


The Consort

by Mad_Lori



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When DG unexpectedly becomes Queen, she asks one of her closest friends, Wyatt Cain, to be her Consort.  Will the demands of a royal marriage change their friendship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wyatt Cain sat in an exquisitely uncomfortable side chair in the anteroom, his hat on his knee, waiting. He wasn’t accustomed to being _summoned_ like this with no idea as to the reason. His own office was in the Forum of Government, and he spent as little time here in the Spire as he could get away with. Being here always made him feel like a poor relation, just a shabby old Tin Man, although the description hardly fit him these days; as a member of the Queen’s Cabinet he was a personage of some import. Even so, he preferred the practical, unadorned halls of the Forum to the Spire’s opulence, and he came here only for meetings, or when DG asked him to. “I haven’t seen you in a week, come over for dinner,” she’d say. “You’re working too hard. Take tomorrow off, we’re going riding,” was another frequent declaration. She pushed, pulled, dragged and cajoled him into having a life, but to be fair, he let her do it.   
  
But he wasn’t here today because of DG. He’d been informed this morning that Ahamo wanted to see him, as soon as possible, no details offered.  
  
 _Why does he want to see me? What the hell does he…_  
  
He shut that down, and fast. Speculation would do no good. He forced his legs to be still when they wanted to bounce and his hands to be at peace when they wanted to fidget.  
  
“General Cain?”  
  
He jumped up. “Yes?”  
  
The Consort’s assistant was standing near the door. “His Highness will see you now.”  
  
“Uh…thanks.” He passed the man without another glance and entered the chamber.  
  
Ahamo was sitting on a settee near the windows. He looked…troubled. A quick sliver of anxiety slid into Cain’s stomach… _is something wrong with DG?_ …but he quelled it. Nothing was wrong, he’d spoken to DG that very morning and she’d sounded as well as could be expected. A little preoccupied, but that wasn’t cause for alarm. Was it? “You wanted to see me, sir?”  
  
“Yes. Please, sit down.”  
  
 _Great. He wants me to sit down. Can’t I just stand up and hear whatever it is and get the hell out?_ Cain perched on the edge of another masterpiece of furniture discomfort and waited.  
  
All the fidgeting Cain hadn’t allowed himself seemed to have been revisited upon Ahamo. “Cain, I asked you here because…well…” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, which was already unkempt as if he’d been doing so all morning. “I need you to do something for me. For the kingdom, rather.”  
  
Cain blinked. “I’m at your service, sir. I’ll do whatever I’m able.”  
  
“Well, yes. Naturally. That’s just it.”  
  
Cain waited. Ahamo just kept staring at his hands. “What is it you need me to do, sir?”  
  
“You know of the Queen’s illness,” the Consort said, his voice going quiet.  
  
The abrupt subject change gave him a moment’s pause, but Cain had no choice but to go with it. “Yes, sir,” he said. It was a placeholder question; everyone knew of the Queen’s illness. The kingdom was already in pre-emptive mourning for their Queen, so long in exile, so welcomed upon return, now with only a few months to live. He felt for the man before him. Separated from his wife for many years and rewarded with a joyous reunion, only to face losing her two years later. As a man who’d lost his own wife, Cain felt a certain kinship with Ahamo, while at the same time the Consort’s situation made him realize that in some ways, he had been fortunate. He had lost Adora, but at least he hadn’t had to watch her slowly deteriorate before his eyes over many months, as Ahamo was doing. He couldn’t imagine anything worse.   
  
Ahamo would survive. It was DG that Cain worried about. Hank and Emily’s programming had been irreparably damaged by Azkadellia’s virus and they no longer remembered her. Their loss had been devastating for her. Now she was losing her real mother, too, after having had such a short time to know her. Cain’s shirts had soaked up DG’s tears on more than one occasion, and his inability to comfort her or ease the burden on her never failed to frustrate him.  
  
Ahamo went on. “What isn’t widely known is that my wife will be relinquishing her throne in a few months.”  
  
Cain sat up a little straighter. “I see, sir.” That was news. Her Majesty was clearly not long for this world, but he hadn’t known she planned to give up her rule before death took it from her. He was still waiting to hear what this had to do with him. “So, Azkadellia will become Queen.”  
  
Ahamo sighed, fixing Cain with a significant look. “No.”  
  
Cain was nearly struck dumb. That couldn’t mean… “Are you telling me that _DG_ will take the throne when her mother steps down?” He sounded impertinent, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself.   
  
“Azkadellia’s health is more fragile than is generally known, and she is not confident that her rule would be accepted by the people, so she has abdicated her claim in favor of her sister.”  
  
“And DG’s okay with this?”   
  
“She says she is.”  
  
Cain was speechless. DG had never desired power, or wanted to take the throne herself. She was still so new to the O.Z., to her own identity, to her own abilities. It had been assumed, by himself and by everyone else, that when the Queen died the throne would pass to Azkadellia. _This must have been in the works for some time. Why didn’t DG tell me?_ It was juvenile, he knew, but he couldn’t help feeling a little hurt that she hadn’t confided in him about this, as she did with most things.  
  
“You’ve been a tremendous help to this family,” Ahamo said.  
  
Cain shook himself out of his distraction to respond. “Thank you, sir.”  
  
“We’ve all come to depend on you a great deal.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.” Cain didn’t know how else to respond but to repeat himself.  
  
“Your service record as Defense Minister has been above reproach.”  
  
 _I can’t say ‘thank you’ one more goddamned time._ “I appreciate that, sir.”  
  
“Which makes what I have to ask you all the more…awkward.”  
  
Cain’s brain was spinning, trying to imagine all the dangerous, illegal, tiresome, or just plain inconvenient things Ahamo could ask him to do. “What is it, sir?” Had he really been sitting here in this room for his entire life, or did it just feel that way?  
  
Ahamo looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time, and Cain saw that the man was exhausted. “I need you to marry my daughter, General Cain.”  
  


* * *

  
  
DG paced in her study, her sneakers squeaking on the marble floor. She felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been this nervous. “I can’t believe I agreed to this,” she muttered.  
  
“Will you please sit down?” Azkedellia said, for at least the tenth time. “You’re making me dizzy.”  
  
“How can I sit? He’s in there right now with Father, you know that, right?” She shook her head. “I should have asked him myself.”  
  
“You said you didn’t want to.”  
  
“I should have anyway. God, I can’t believe I’m going along with any of this! I shouldn’t have to have a husband to be Queen! What kind of a sexist attitude is that, anyway?”  
  
“You don’t have to have a husband to be Queen. It’s your…particular situation. You’re so new, and so young…and there are threats.”  
  
“I know all about the threats.” She finally sat down, her head falling into her hands.  
  
Azkadellia moved to sit at her side. “DG, we’ve been through this. I thought you’d made your decision and accepted the necessity.”  
  
DG sighed. “I had. But now, knowing that it’s all happening…” She looked up at her sister. “How’m I going to look him in the eye? How’m I going to deal with him now?”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be different. He’s your friend, right?”  
  
DG nodded. “My best friend, or one of.”  
  
“Well, that’s something. Isn’t it?”  
  
DG shrugged. “Maybe a stranger would be better. At least I wouldn’t be asking someone I actually cared about to make this kind of sacrifice.”  
  
“He may not view it as a sacrifice.”  
  
She snorted. “How can it be anything but? Az, Wyatt Cain does not _want_ to marry me. I doubt he ever wants to marry anybody, ever again! If he agrees, it’ll be because he feels duty-bound, or because he knows I need it, or just because he wants to protect me like always. Any way you slice it, it’ll be a sacrifice.” She sighed. “I just hope he can forgive me for asking him to make it.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Ambrose watched Cain pace, waiting patiently for him to say something. At length, he did.  
  
“Why me?” he said, stopping in front of Ambrose’s desk.  
  
“Did you say yes?”  
  
“Of course I said yes! What was I _supposed_ to say? ‘No, Your Highness, I’m afraid I can’t do that, so your daughter will just have to remain vulnerable to sneaky suitors and hostile takeovers?’” Ambrose said nothing, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth, and eventually Cain flopped into one of the chairs facing the desk. “Why didn’t you say something to me about this? A little warning might’ve been nice before Ahamo blindsided me.”  
  
“None of us were allowed to speak of it.”  
  
Cain shook his head. “What did DG say when she found out who they had in mind?”  
  
Ambrose sighed. “It was her idea.”  
  
That got Cain’s attention. His head snapped up. “It _was?_ ”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I don’t believe you,” Cain said.  
  
“It’s true.” Ambrose leaned forward. “This was all pretty sudden, Cain. No one thought the Queen would step down so soon. And no one thought Azkadellia would abdicate. Until a week ago, DG had no thought that she’d _ever_ become Queen, let alone so soon. She was ready to be the Queen’s free-wheeling sister, flitting around the O.Z. doing her little projects and organizing her charities and making an occasional appearance on Az’s behalf. She thought it would be Az dealing with the power-hungry neighbors and the pushy suitors and the invaders hunching up to the borders. Then she finds out it’s going to be her. The suitors are going to come sniffing after _her,_ a lot of them with their own agendas, the invaders are going to see _her_ as a newcomer, heirless and alone with no one to support her but an otherworlder father and a frail, disgraced sister. Given all that, it didn’t take much convincing to get her to agree that she ought to be married before she takes the throne.”  
  
Cain stared at his hands. “It just doesn’t seem like something she’d accept.”  
  
Ambrose hesitated. “You know the guilt DG carries around.” Cain nodded. “She feels responsible for Azkadellia’s possession, and her mother’s imprisonment, and just about everything bad that’s happened, whether it’s her fault or not. She wants to do what her parents want and fulfill her responsibilities to the O.Z. even if she resents it at times.”  
  
“I know. But…why me?” Cain repeated.  
  
Ambrose arched one manicured eyebrow. “You got a better idea?” Cain said nothing. “No, neither did anybody else. She can’t possibly meet someone new and trust them enough to marry them, there’s no time. When her father asked her who she would choose to stand by her and help protect her throne, who she could trust with this kind of responsibility…I have to say, it took her about half a second to say your name.”  
  
Cain was shaking his head. “It’s not right. She’s still so young. She shouldn’t be tied to me for her whole life! She should have the chance to meet someone and fall in love!”  
  
“Rulers don’t always get to have that,” Ambrose said, quietly. “And you seem willing to give that up for yourself.”  
  
Cain stared at his hands. “I was lucky enough to have that once. I’m done. I’m not giving up anything.”  
  
“Come on, Cain,” Ambrose said, “you’re hardly ready for the retirement home. You could fall in love again. Are you willing to become her Consort and give up that…possibility?”  
  
He nodded, his eyes still averted. “If that’s what she needs.”  
  
“Then you should respect her right to make the same sacrifice, for her kingdom and the security of her rule. If she’s willing, it’s not our place to question her decision.”   
  
“I still don’t think I’m the best choice.”  
  
“Even if you’re not, you’re _her_ choice.”  
  
“How can I help her fend off invaders and hostile foreign leaders? I’m no diplomat.”  
  
“No, but you represent the Queen’s forces and the rule of law.”  
  
“I’m not of noble blood.”  
  
“The Queen knighted you, you’re noble enough. Besides, no one cares about such things these days.”  
  
“Oh God,” Cain groaned, putting his hands over his face. “This is real, isn’t it?”  
  
“Cain, I think we all need to quit thinking of this as some great tragedy we’re suffering through and started looking on the bright side. A wedding is supposed to be a happy occasion! DG isn’t being dragged into this kicking and screaming, you know. She’s making the best of the situation she’s in, and I suggest you do the same.”  
  
Cain jumped up and leaned over the desk. “Glitch, I am going to have to have _sex_ with her. Do you realize that?”  
  
Ambrose recoiled, a little taken aback. “Well…yes, I suppose you are.”  
  
“How am I supposed to make the best of _that?_ ”  
  
“Is it really so terrible?”  
  
“Yes! Because it’s _DG!_ I’ve never…I don’t…oh, hell.” He sat back down.   
  
Ambrose watched his friend’s face with sympathy. He knew that it was easy for him to tell Cain to make the best of things; he wasn’t the one being asked to marry the future Queen. “I know you, Cain. You’d never let DG go into this alone when she’s asked for your help.”  
  
“Of course not. I just…I don’t want to be the thing holding her back from the kind of life she deserves. I don’t want to be something she’s enduring for the sake of the O.Z., or to please her parents.”  
  
“No one wants that. But we all have our crosses to bear, don’t we? I mean, look at me. I have a scar down the middle of my skull and a tendency to break into song at the slightest provocation.”  
  
Cain chuckled. “One of your many charms, Glitch.”  
  
For a few moments, there was silence. “So,” Ambrose said, “I think you’ve kept her waiting long enough, don’t you?”


	2. Chapter 2

Cain waited in the drawing room. They’d come, and quickly. He’d used the codeword, half surprised he’d still remembered it after ten years.  
  
The door opened quietly and the Queen and Ahamo entered. They were not announced, and no pages, secretaries or guards accompanied them. In this meeting, they weren’t sovereigns and he wasn’t Defense Minister.  
  
They stood before him in the dim room. First the Queen, then Ahamo lifted their hands with practiced nonchalance and made the same gesture, a deliberate sweep of the first two fingers along the temple, as if to brush away an errant hair. Cain did the same.  
  
“Before I go to DG,” he said, “I need to ask you something and I need the truth.”  
  
The Queen nodded. “Agreed.”  
  
“Was I truly her choice? Or was the idea planted in her head by you?”  
  
“Why would we do that?” the Queen said.  
  
“You know why, or you wouldn’t have come to this meeting.”  
  
They exchanged a glance. “You were her choice, Cain. But…we were prepared to influence her if necessary. If she were to choose another. Why does it matter?”  
  
“It matters because I left all this behind ten years ago!” he said. “I will marry DG. But I will do it because I care about her and she needs my help, and _not_ because it’s been _arranged_ by the Order.”  
  
“The Order is dead.”  
  
He sniffed. “The Order’s been thought dead many times in the last two thousand years. But it _is_ dead for me.”  
  
“You were one of its greatest heroes, Cain.”  
  
“Not everyone would think so. And it cost me everything I had. My last connection to it died in Azkadellia’s prison. And don’t talk about it like you were part of it because you weren’t, either of you. You only knew we existed because we allowed it. I never wanted to be a part of any of it, but I had no choice. I would not have agreed to your terms all those years ago if I’d known I was ending my life as I knew it.” He sighed. “I never thought I’d have a new life, but I do, and I’m not getting into all this again, do you understand? So if you’ve somehow manipulated her into choosing me because you wanted her married to one of _us_ you’re wasting your time. I won’t marry her unless I am _her_ choice.”  
  
“You are. You have our word,” Ahamo said.  
  
Cain looked in his eyes, the in the Queen’s, and nodded. “Very well.”  
  
“Can I ask _you_ something?” the Queen said.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“When she let you out of the tin suit…did you know it was her?”  
  
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”  
  
“Have you told her that?”  
  
“No.” He was done answering questions. Cain moved to the door, leaving the Queen and Ahamo to watch him go. As he was leaving he turned back and swept his fingers down his temple.  
  
He didn’t stay to see if the gesture was returned.  
  


* * *

  
  
Azkadellia had gone to bed. DG had watched her go, noting with concern her pallor, her trembling fingers, every sign of frailty on her sister’s form spelling her own fate…to sit in that chair and call the shots. She’d never been more terrified of anything in her life, nor more determined not to show it.  
  
She’d worked hard to hang on to herself here in this place that wanted to turn her into some kind of fairy princess at every turn. She wore clothes of her own choosing, read books she was advised against, sent her valet back to the otherworld to fetch familiar music, and came and went as she pleased, for the most part. How would she hold onto who she’d once been when she was Queen?  
  
 _At least I’ll have a friend at my side. If he agrees. God, I don’t want to imagine the look on his face when Father asked him…what if he was horrified at the very idea? What if he says no? What if he says yes?  
  
I’m going to have to have sex with him._  
  
That stopped her thoughts dead in their tracks. She suppressed a shudder. The idea wasn’t revolting, just…unsettling. DG was a red-blooded woman who noticed men, but she’d never thought of Cain that way. She could see that he was handsome, but she’d never put him in that mental category of “Guys I’d Think Of Having Sex With.”  
  
She had raised this issue with Azkadellia a few nights ago in the hushed tones of sisterly girl-talk.  
  
“You won’t be expected to share a bedroom with him,” Az had said. “The royal suite has a central sitting room and two bedrooms.”  
  
“I don’t know how that works if I’m also expected to produce an heir at some point,” DG had said, hoping her flippancy masked her deep terror of that entire prospect.  
  
“Well…it only takes once,” Az said, trying to be reassuring.  
  
“What if five years from now I meet some really awesome guy and fall madly in love?” DG had said, putting words to one of her deepest fears. She was willing to marry for the sake of her throne, but she couldn’t imagine being so duty-bound and selfless that she sacrificed any and all chances at love for herself.  
  
Azkadellia had smiled. “DG…you’ll be the Queen. You can take as many lovers as you like.”  
  
That conversation came back to her again as she sat at her desk, staring at her blank journal pages, contemplating her fate, not to mention the one she was asking Cain to share with her. _If I’m sacrificing the chance to marry for love, I’m asking him to do the same.  
  
He got to do that once already. I haven’t even had the chance yet, and now I never will.  
  
You’re royal. It’s your duty.  
  
I didn’t ask to be royal.  
  
No one does. It’s your birthright, and your responsibility.  
  
What if I don’t want it?  
  
Your parents gave up everything so you could have it. So you could do what they could not, and restore the O.Z. to its former glory. The people didn’t ask to have you as a Queen either, but they don’t have a choice, and neither do you. It’s your fault that Azkadellia can’t take the throne, so you’d better be willing to step up.  
  
It’s not fair.  
  
Nothing ever is. You should be grateful you can marry a friend, someone you trust, instead of tying yourself to some stranger with power and a claim to nobility who says the right things at the right time even while he looks for ways to trick you._  
  
She was grateful. Or she would be, if only he’d accept.  
  
A knock on the door jerked her out of her reverie. “Yes?” she said, her voice shaky.  
  
“It’s me, DG.”  
  
 _Oh God, here we go._ “Come in,” she said. She stood up and faced the door.  
  
He entered, his hat in his hand, and he looked different. She couldn’t say how, exactly, just that he did.  
  
 _He doesn’t look different. You’re looking at him with different eyes._  
  
“Hey,” she managed, feebly.  
  
He smiled, but it was forced and false. “Hi.”  
  
“Umm…sit down?” she said, motioning to the couch by her desk.  
  
He nodded, and sat. DG perched on the edge of the couch, as far from him as it was physically possible to be and still be seated. She opened her mouth, but she had no idea what to say. Usually when that happened, she’d just go with whatever came tumbling out, but for the first time in her memory, nothing did. She shut her mouth with a snap.  
  
Cain… _maybe I ought to start calling him Wyatt now_ …was staring at his hat, which was beginning to look a little manhandled as his hands worried at it restlessly. He glanced at her, then away again.  
  
 _God. Kill me now._  
  
“Why didn’t you ask me yourself?” he finally asked, barely louder than a whisper.  
  
DG swallowed past a catch in her throat. “Because I…I couldn’t stand to look at your face while I said it,” she choked out. She couldn’t go on. She shifted in her seat, turning her body away from him, and stared at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.  
  
Cain said nothing. DG waited, each agonizing second ticking by, made worse by her uncertainty as to whether she was hoping he’d say yes or hoping he’d say no.  
  
He got up. _He’s leaving. That’s it. He won’t even be my friend anymore. What am I going to do? How am I…_  
  
But he wasn’t leaving. He stepped closer, stopping in front of her. DG stared at his feet, unable to look him in the eye until all at once he went down on one knee before her and she found herself face-to-face with him.   
  
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, which he opened to reveal a ring. She stared at it, her mind wiped clean with surprise, unable to take her eyes from it as Cain gently pulled her left hand out of entanglement with her right and slid the ring onto her finger. She blinked at it sitting there, looking so at home, its single diamond sparkling.  
  
She lifted her gaze to his again and saw there only her friend, his familiar blue eyes holding nothing but understanding. DG smiled weakly. “Thank you,” she whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

_three weeks later…_

"I'm hearing disturbing things out of Flornistan." Jeb was kicked back in his chair, his feet up on the brand-new coffee table in Cain's brand-new office in the Spire, where he had been moved, under protest, when the engagement had been announced. He would not be able to serve as Defense Minister once he became Consort, but he hated to be ousted before his time.

Cain frowned. "What kinds of things?" He was reading the reports Jeb had brought in with him, mostly intelligence from the scouting parties along the borders.

"That it's become the favorite destination for fugitive Longcoats."

"I know all about that. If they want to leave the country, let them."

"Did you know they're working with the Flornish to raise an army and invade?"

That got his attention. "This is reliable information?"

"As reliable as any. I've got two men posing as Longcoats inside the Flornish borders. They're due to make contact in a few days; I ought to have more information by then." Jeb stood up. "Sorry, I have to run. I'm due back in QC by tomorrow night."

"Jeb, wait," Cain said, jumping up as his son started to leave. "You just got here."

"I know, but I'm expected back, and there's…"

"I hardly get to see you these days."

Jeb met his father's eyes with a flat gaze. "That's to be expected if you're going to stay in this palace all the time."

Cain took a breath. "I have responsibilities here."

"I know." Jeb dropped his eyes. "I'll be on my way. I don't want to take up any more of the Consort's time."

"I'm not the Consort yet," Cain said, a little too quickly. Jeb said nothing. The silence spun out between them like taffy pulled past its stretching point. Cain cleared his throat. "Will you be attending?" he asked, quietly. He didn't need to clarify what he was referring to. The wedding was all anyone in the city or in the entire O.Z. could talk about these days. Cain, to his embarrassment, had been mostly hiding in the Spire since the announcement, because whenever he ventured outside, he was mobbed. Photographers, excited citizens, journalists…he felt like the flavor of the month. He was half-dreading the event, but at least once it was done all this hype and hysteria would be over and normal life could resume.

"Do you really want me to?" Jeb asked, an edge to his voice.

"Of course I do. We both do," Cain amended.

"You  _both_  do. Naturally."

"Jeb, I've explained why I…"

Jeb held up a hand. "I know, Dad. I get it. But it's still a bit strange for me that I'm going to have a stepmother who's only three years older than I am."

"It's no less strange for me, son." He sighed. "This is all happening so fast. The announcement is made and all of a sudden I have a private office here, and my own staff, and…" He sat down behind his desk again, slumping in the chair. "I said I wasn't the Consort yet but sometimes it sure feels like I am."

Jeb sat back down. "You can't do your old job anymore, Dad. You don't work for the royal family, you're one of them."

"I don't feel like one of them."

Jeb chuckled. "It was kind of funny to pass through Central City and see your face on commemorative souvenirs."

Cain groaned. "Oh, God. Don't remind me. I didn't sign up for overnight celebrity."

"No, you signed up to marry the Crown Princess. What did you expect?"

"I just thought I was doing my duty to DG."

"You could have said no."

"I know," Cain groaned. "As Ambrose reminds me whenever I complain too long for his liking."

Jeb leaned on the desk, propping his head on his hand. "Look, I like DG. You know I do. But I don't know if I can sit in that hall and watch you bind yourself to this kind of life. You'll be just as much a prisoner as you were in the tin suit."

"Maybe you're right," Cain said, quietly. "But DG was born into her own tin suit. And I can't let her be alone in there."

* * *

DG walked quickly into the family sitting room, one hand already held up. "Mother, just so you know, I do not want to talk about dresses or flowers or music or anything else that has the word 'wedding' anywhere attached to it, all right?" She sat down, sweaty and disheveled from her daily session of martial-arts training, which had started at Cain's insistence but had continued because she liked it. Glitch was forever going on about what a natural she was, although she had her doubts that he might just be talking her up a bit.

She felt bad being so short with her mother. She was ill, after all, and the fact that she didn't have much time left was something DG tried hard not to think about. Part of her wanted to give in to her every demand, just so that her mother could have this wedding as a perfect memory before she died, but dammit…arranged or not, it was  _her_  wedding and all the preparations had quickly worn through her tolerance.

The Queen eyed her nervously. "All right, dear." DG waited, counting off the seconds. She'd gotten to seventeen when her mother spoke up again. "It's just your one chance at this special day, and…"

"And you want it to be magical and perfect and all that and that's nice, but I just want to do it quickly and quietly and go on with my life as if nothing's happened. I wish we didn't even have to invite anyone."

"DG, it's a state occasion! There are traditions, and protocols, and…"

DG sighed. "Yes, I know. I'm doing my duty and getting married, Mother. I don't think I'm duty-bound to make a giant ass of myself."

"Actually, that's the short definition of being queen, dear."

DG met her mother's eyes, saw her wry smile, and laughed. The tension broken, she got up and joined her mother on the couch, slumping back into the voluminous pillows. "Just don't tell Cain, all right? He runs the other way when he sees me coming as it is."

"Give him time to get used to all this."

"I don't think he'll ever get used to being the center of attention." DG put her hands to her face. "I'm asking too much of him. He'll never have a moment's peace ever again, and now that he sees what he's really gotten himself into…I bet he wishes he'd said no." She fingered her engagement ring absently.

"He wishes no such thing."

"Even if he does, he'll never say so. He'll just suffer in silence and eventually hate me for roping him into this."

"DG! Why on earth would you say such a thing?" the Queen exclaimed, putting a hand on her daughter's arm.

DG met her mother's eyes, letting her fear seep into her gaze, fear she usually kept under tight lock and key. "Because I'm afraid it's already started," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like I've lost my friend. There's this… _weirdness_  now that was never there before. I used to tell him everything, he used to talk to me so easily. Now there's this big thing sitting there between us and I can't see him through it, and I can't look around it because it's just too huge."

The Queen nodded. "I can understand that. It is a rather big change you're making. I think you both just need time to get used to it. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Sure, fine. Whatever."

"Your Mr. Cain is a good man, DG. Your father and I couldn't be happier with the choice you made."

DG sighed. "He isn't  _my_  Mr. Cain, Mother."

* * *

Later that afternoon, DG quite literally ran into her fiance as she came around a corner near her father's office, her nose stuck in a history book. Cain was coming the other direction, equally immersed in a stack of papers. They collided and papers and books flew everywhere.

"Oh damn, I'm sorry," Cain said, steadying DG with a hand on her arm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, bending to pick up her book. Cain beat her to it and handed her the volume. "I guess I should look where I'm going," she said, tittering a nervous laugh.

Cain gathered up his papers and stood. "I was just, uh…heading to the kitchen for some coffee."

She nodded, clutching her book to her chest. "Oh."

Pause. "Care to join me?"

"Oh! Uh…sure, why not?" DG turned back the way she'd come and fell into step beside him. They walked in silence for a few strides. "I didn't see you at breakfast," she ventured.

"Jeb was here," he said.

DG nodded. "I heard he was coming in."

"Yeah."

She waited for him to go on, but he didn't. "Did he have news?"

Cain held out the stack of papers in his hand. "He brought reports. I'm sorting through all of it now. I'll have a briefing ready by this evening."

"Okay." She desperately wanted to ask him if Jeb was coming to the wedding, but couldn't think how to phrase the question. She was very nervous that marrying her might alienate Cain from his son, which was the last thing she wanted. She had always been friendly with Jeb, but hadn't spoken to him in private since the announcement.

She wanted to ask, but she couldn't, because suddenly it wasn't her place to ask about his relationship with his son. In the past she'd never needed to ask, he would have talked to her about it. Just as she would once have told him about how her mother was driving her crazy with all this wedding business, but now she said nothing.

So they walked to the kitchen in silence, two feet of space between them.


	4. Chapter 4

A minor war was waged in the halls of Central City Spire Palace, primary residence of the Royal House of Gale, over whether to actually invite people to the rehearsal for this, the Wedding of the Century, as the journalists insisted on referring to it. The Queen and Ahamo maintained that various officials and courtiers and distant relations would be offended if they were not invited to the rehearsal, while DG thought that it was ridiculous to invite people to a rehearsal, and would rather stumble through the practice ceremony in the imposing Great Hall without people watching. DG won out, with Cain enthusiastically on her side, so the rehearsal was attended only by the people participating.

The tradeoff was the post-rehearsal dinner, which would be a royal shindig of epic proportions, as Glitch put it.

DG had been relieved to find that the ceremony bore some resemblance to weddings she'd attended back home, with a little extra pomp and circumstance and a lot less emphasis on romance, which was frankly a relief. The vows were less flowery, and there was no custom of kissing the bride afterward. The fact that this was a royal wedding (and how she'd come to loathe that phrase) meant that the pomp had been dialed up even further and the romance de-emphasized even more. Ironically, if she needed practice at anything it was walking gracefully in her gown, which was the one aspect of the ceremony that this rehearsal was  _not_  covering.

She walked down the aisle once the seemingly-endless procession of ladies-in-waiting had gone up ahead of her, making the most of their jobs. As she neared the front, she kept her eyes on her feet. She was wearing the shoes that went with her gown; if she couldn't wear the gown itself at least she'd get used to walking on heels that added three inches to her height. Happily, her footwear preoccupation gave her a reason not to look at her groom, who stood at the front waiting for her.

In fact, she managed not to look at him once while she extended her hand to him, while they faced the Chief Adjudicator of the OZian High Court together, flanked by Azkadellia and Ambrose, while they ran through the beats of the ceremony and listened to their officiant's instructions. It wasn't until they were turning around to walk back out and Cain offered her his elbow that she looked up at him, more out of reflex than anything else. His eyes, which were so blue that sometimes she could swear they glowed, were mirrors to her own as she saw there the same apprehension and nervousness she felt herself. She smiled at him, relieved to find something they could share. She took his arm and they walked out together.

"Wasn't so hard," he muttered.

"It'll be a little different tomorrow when there are a thousand people here, not to mention most of the O.Z. watching the broadcast."

"Shush," he said. "I've got a nice little calm going here, don't ruin it."

DG giggled as they exited the dining hall. "Do you know the judge asked me if we were writing our own vows?"

Cain looked just as stricken at the idea as she'd been. "Oh God, can you imagine?"

"I know. I told him I'd rather recite Whitesnake lyrics." He was smiling at her, and DG realized that this felt normal, for the first time since he'd put that ring on her finger. "Cain, I…"

He held up a hand. "DG, you don't have to say anything. Not anymore. Don't you think the time for us to agonize over this is past?"

She sighed. "I don't know if it'll ever be past for me."

He faced her and took both her hands in his. "We're doing this. It's for real. No matter the reasons, or how we got here, or how awkward it's been…don't look at me like that, I've felt it, too…we're doing this. We have to move forward. We have to try and be ourselves. I just want us to be like we were."

She nodded, squeezing his hands. "Me, too."

"Okay, then. Let's get ourselves through this dinner thing, get some sleep, and survive tomorrow."

"I like this plan."

"Good." He hesitated, still hanging on to her hands, his eyes scanning her face. He bent and kissed her cheek, DG meeting him halfway. They'd been trying to acclimate to some casual displays of intimacy of the sort that might be expected of them by the people. Until now such attempts had been excruciatingly uncomfortable, but this…this felt all right. It felt normal. He drew back and smiled again, then released her hands and offered her his elbow. "Shall we?"

* * *

"Az."

Azkadellia turned from corralling the unruly ladies-in-waiting. "What is it, DG?"

"I'm going to be sick."

"No, you're not, you're fine."

"I'm serious, Az. Projectile vomit is in my near future."

"Take deep breaths. Do you want some water?"

"You got any whiskey?"

Azkadellia joined DG in front of the mirror and met her eyes in the glass. "You look so beautiful, DG."

It wasn't bad, DG had to admit. Then again, compared to some of the satin-and-tulle ruffled and hoopskirted monstrosities her mother had favored, just about anything would have looked restrained and elegant. To prevent the Queen from intimidating the seamstresses into adding some flounces and bows, DG had resorted to quite literally standing over them while they sewed her dress, a loosely-fitted sheath with cap sleeves in a muted bone color. She was obligated by protocol to wear the jeweled diadem that came with her rank, and its ostentatiousness made her want to wear nothing more extravagant than a potato sack to counterbalance it, but this gown was about as simple as she could get away with. Still, her satisfaction with her dress didn't mean she was peaceful and content with what she was about to do. "I keep waiting for somebody to run in and tell me it's all been a terrible joke and everything's off," she said, turning her head this way and that while the diadem shot flashes of light into her eyes, reflected from the nearby window.

Az put her hands on her shapely hips. "Six weeks I've been listening to this," she said, her brow furrowing. "This may not be the wedding you thought you'd have, but come  _on,_  DG. You're marrying one of your best friends, and he's good-hearted and kind under that grumpy Tin Man exterior. He's not bad to look at, either." She looked right into DG's eyes. "He will never break your heart."

DG sighed. "No, he won't break my heart. He can't. No one ever will, Az. You have to  _give_  somebody your heart before they can break it. I'll never get that chance. Looks like I'll be keeping my heart just for my own self."

Azkadellia was silent for a moment. "There are worse things," she said, quietly.

DG nodded. "Tell me I'm not making a terrible mistake."

"You're not." Az's eyes were looking into DG's with sudden intensity. "Tell me you don't hate me for abdicating and forcing you into this."

"Az, no!" DG exclaimed, taken aback. She'd never known her sister feared such a thing. "It's my fault you had to abdicate! If I hadn't…you know…we'd have grown up together and you would have been strong and beloved and you'd take the throne with confidence and I'd just be jealous of how fabulous you were."

Az sighed. "You're stronger than I could ever have been, DG." She met DG's eyes. "I love you."

DG felt her eyes misting over. She reached out and hugged her sister tightly, unmindful of their gowns. "I love you too, Az."

"I know you're anxious. I understand why. But for the record? I think Wyatt is wonderful."

DG picked at her bouquet, feeling a little shy about that. "He'll do."

Azkadellia nodded. "Everything's going to be fine, you'll see."

"I hope you're right."

* * *

Ambrose came back into the salon, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Cain, he isn't here."

Cain's heart sank. He'd really hoped Jeb would surprise him and show up. He didn't ask for his son's approval, or even his blessing. He'd be satisfied just to have his presence. "Well…I guess he couldn't get away," he said.

Ambrose put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure he'd be here if he could."

"I'm not so sure. But it'd be nice to think so." He straightened up and adjusted his tie. "Time?"

"Ten minutes to go."

Cain nodded. "I hope DG's okay," he murmured.

"How are  _you?_ "

"I just want to get this over with."

"You and me both. The minute this is done with, I've got her coronation to plan."

Cain shuffled his feet, hands in his pockets, walking in aimless little circles. "How much time do you think we'll have before everyone starts expecting a baby?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Ambrose sighed. "I don't think you should worry about that just now."

He kept his eyes averted. "You know that we don't plan to…well, we won't be, uh…that is, our rooms are…and…"

"I know," Ambrose said, sparing Cain the explication. "Look, this is really simple. When DG is ready…when you both are, that is…we'll have the doctors monitor her, and they can tell you exactly when you'll need to, uh…shall we say, perform?"

Cain groaned. "Not the word I'd choose, Glitch."

"Sorry. This isn't exactly a conversation I've ever had before."

"Go on."

"I know you're both nervous about this so we'll do what we can so that she can have a baby while minimizing your, uh…contact."

Cain stared off into the distance. "I don't know if DG even  _wants_  kids. If she'd want them if she weren't Queen, that is."

"Oh, she does. She's mentioned that to me before. I don't know if she'd have wanted them this soon, though."

"Well, there's no rush. We can wait as long as she likes."

"I don't know about that. There is a bit of a rush, actually. A ruler without an heir is vulnerable."

"What, so in case she's assassinated or something there'll be someone to inherit her title?" Cain said, his face reddening.

"Something like that."

"That won't happen. Not on my watch. And starting today, it's  _always_  my watch."

There was a knock at the door. Cain's heart leapt into his throat. "Must be that time," Ambrose said, going to open it.

But it wasn't a courtier who entered, it was Jeb. Cain's heart gave another lurch at the sight of him, dressed in his formal uniform, as Cain himself was. "Hey, Dad," Jeb said. "Sorry for cutting it so close."

Cain broke into a grin that felt too large for his face. He crossed the room in two strides and wrapped Jeb up in a tight embrace. "I'm so glad you came, son," he said.

"I had to," Jeb said, drawing back. "My father's getting married. It's important." He looked down. "Mom would have wanted me to be here for you."

Cain sighed, keeping his hand on Jeb's shoulder. "Son…" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I loved your mother. I always will."

"It's okay," Jeb said, cutting him off. "She's gone. She'd want you to be happy."

"What I'm doing today isn't about my happiness, or about love."

Jeb's eyes scanned Cain's face. "If you say so."

Cain held Jeb's gaze for a long moment. "Hey," he said, inspiration striking. "You should stand up with me."

"Oh, Dad, I don't know…"

"There's no one I'd rather have." He looked over at Ambrose, feeling a little guilty. Ambrose was his closest friend, but Jeb was his son. "Ambrose…"

"Say no more," Ambrose said, fishing in his pocket for the ring. He handed it to Jeb. "It's only right, Wyatt."

"But I want you up there, too."

"Of course, Your Highness." He smirked, seeing Cain's glare. "You better get used to it. That title will be yours for real in about half an hour."

* * *

DG stood stock still behind the closed doors to the Hall while attendants flitted about her like hummingbirds, adjusting her veil (which did not cover her face, at her insistence…she'd be going into matrimony with her vision unimpeded, thank you very much) and straightening her train. The train was her one concession to her mother's wishes, on the condition that it could be done away with after the ceremony. It wasn't terribly long, but she was still petrified she'd get tangled up in it and go ass over teakettle in the middle of her supposedly-regal stroll up the aisle.

Her parents hovered nearby, the Queen in her carved wooden wheelchair, waiting to be escorted to their seats in the front row. She barely heard their exclamations ( _you-look-beautiful we're-so-proud we'll-be-right-up-front you're-radiant take-deep-breaths you're-such-a-lovely-bride_ ) as she was focusing on not passing out. She managed to nod and smile and accept their kisses and embraces, and breathed a sigh of relief as Ambrose escorted them to the front of the Hall, leaving her alone with Azkadellia.

"You're doing great," Az murmured in her ear, leaning in to straighten something on her dress.

"I can't believe this is really happening," she muttered back.

"You've faced far scarier things than this, DG."

"I'm not so sure about that."

The music changed. Azkadellia's cue. DG met her sister's eyes, trying to keep back her panic. Az gripped her hand tightly. "Remember who you are," she said. "You're going to be the Queen."

DG nodded. "Thanks, Az."

Azkadellia released her hand and walked through the doors. DG watched the long white silk runner at her feet, spread before her like a trail to lead her where she was supposed to go.

She heard her cue. She blinked, and her feet started moving after a brief moment when she thought they might just sit there beneath her and refuse to carry her forward. She passed into the Hall and the weight of a thousand pairs of eyes slammed into her like a bucketload of sand, tickling her skin and lodging in every crevasse.

_I can do this. I can do this._

_Oh crap. This is it. This is marriage. I'm getting married. I'm about to say "I do" and all that shit._

_Married. I'm getting married._

_I'm not remotely ready for this._

She felt herself falter slightly, although no one else would have seen it. Her eyes searched the front of the Hall for a touchstone, and they found it when she saw Cain standing at the end of that long white trail, waiting for her. He was smiling, and watching her progress.

_I can do this. I can do this. It's my duty. I can do it for my kingdom._

_I can do it because he's with me._

He looked so handsome, too, in his dark blue formal uniform, a broad red sash across his chest, heavy with medals bestowed on him by the Queen, the commander, the provincial governors. A sword hung from his belt, the badge of his rank as a Knight Protector of the Zone, bestowed on him by the Queen over a year ago.

DG saw who was standing next to him and couldn't help but smile. She'd known how much Cain had wanted his son to be here, but he'd all but given up hope of it happening.

By the time she reached him, DG felt okay, and the smile she wore was genuine. Cain stepped forward, reaching out for her hand. She took it.

"Hey there, princess," he whispered under his breath as they continued forward together, just a few more steps and up three stairs to stand before the judge who'd seal this deal.

She met his eyes and tried to see in him the partner of her life, the man she'd chosen to be her companion until death separated them. In an ideal world, she would have seen in him the man she loved, but she didn't live in an ideal world. Even so, at that moment, it was enough just to see him, her friend, now her consort, always her Tin Man.


	5. Chapter 5

The narthex of the Great Hall felt very quiet once the doors were shut behind them. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, and in rather a blur from DG's perspective. The judge had made quick work of it, keeping the sermonizing to a minimum and cutting right to the chase. She vaguely recalled making some promises and repeating some vows and putting a ring on Cain's finger, and then people were applauding and she was hanging onto Cain's arm for dear life as they walked back down that interminably long aisle. DG stopped to compose herself, Cain's hand firm on her waist. She bent over slightly.

"Breathe, kiddo," Cain murmured.

"Quit smirking. I can hear your smirk."

"It's over. We did it."

DG straightened up and looked at him. "Yeah. We did."  _Which means we're married. Imagine that._  "And I didn't even throw up."

Cain looked mildly alarmed. "Didn't realize there was danger of that."

"Just nerves."

There was a valet lurking nearby. "Your Highnesses," he said, in that silky-smooth tone of deference that all the royal attendants seemed to have in common. DG had wondered more than once if they had to take a class or something. He was holding out his arm, indicating for them to follow him to the anteroom where they would sign their names to the Registry, making their marriage official. The doors to the Hall remained shut; the guests would be kept inside until DG and Cain were out of the narthex. The wedding feast would be held on one of the lower floors in a series of state dining rooms; even the largest single banquet hall would not hold all these guests. Later everyone would move into the Ballroom, which took up the entirety of the fortieth floor and was plenty roomy enough for everyone to dance.

She took his arm again. "I can't believe after all that there's  _paperwork,_ " she grumbled, draping her train over one arm and tossing her flowers to the nearest lady-in-waiting.

"There's always paperwork. It's the only certainty in life," Cain said as they followed the valet.

DG glanced up at him. There was tension in his shoulders. "What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. I was just…well, it crossed my mind that we might have some security issues. Such a big gathering. Wouldn't be hard for someone to sneak in who wanted to make their displeasure known."

She shook her head. "Two years of work. Sometimes it seems like it hasn't made one lick of difference."

"Some people will never be satisfied at the way things ended. They don't care that she was possessed, they want vengeance. Some people just don't trust an Otherworlder."

"I'm not an Otherworlder. Technically."

"You're enough of one to give some people a reason to distrust you, although they'd likely find a reason anyway."

DG sighed. "Well, that's why we're doing all this, isn't it? To help bolster confidence?" A trace of bitterness crept into her voice. She and her family had spent the entire first year after the Eclipse touring the country, talking to people, showing the records of the Witch's defeat, soothing fears, making assurances. Had any of it been worth the time?

They'd reached the anteroom. The valet opened the door and stepped aside to let them enter. The Chief Registrar was waiting behind a small escritoire. Floating in the air at his side was a thick scroll sealed in a copper case. "Your Highness," he said, bowing to DG. "General Cain. As you know," he began without preamble, "the Registry is a record of all who are born, die or marry in the O.Z. Each of you have a record of your birth contained herein; today you will add to it the record of your marriage." He lifted a hand and the scroll clicked open. The parchment flowed down and across the table, stopping before it touched the floor. "Each of you please state your name."

DG stepped forward. "DG Gale," she said. Nothing happened.

"Your dynastic name, Your Highness."

"Oh. Theora Dorothea Grace Gale." The scroll zipped back and forth, the paper flying across the desk, vanishing before it hit the floor, until it slowed and came to a halt with her name in the center of the desk. Each name bore three columns. Only the left-hand column of hers contained writing, just her name and her parents' names.

She took up the quill the judge handed her and steadied her hand. If there was ever a time for good penmanship, this was surely it. She wrote carefully in the center column: "Husband - Wyatt Henry Cain." No dates were required; the scroll knew when it was written upon. She blotted the ink and handed the quill back, satisfied.

"Sir," the Registrar said, motioning to Cain.

He cleared his throat and said his name, and the scroll began to whir again, stopping at Cain's entry.

DG's heart sank. In the center column were still written the words "Wife - Adora Louise Earlie." She felt Cain stiffen at her side. "It still says I'm married to my late wife," he choked out.

"Indeed, sir. As it would have done in perpetuity if you had not remarried."

"But…what do I do?"

"Simply begin writing the new entry, and the old one will disappear."

Cain's head jerked up at that. "What? Can't I just…add it?"

"That would imply being married to two women at the same time, sir."

"You're telling me there'll be no record that I was ever married to Adora now?"

"Not at all, sir. A record exists, as part of her entry. And will always exist." The Registrar was looking at Cain not unsympathetically. "Your Highness, I understand how you feel. You must honor your late wife as you see fit. But you have chosen now to cleave to another, and that is how you must be known by the Registry."

Cain sighed, and gave a tight nod. He took the quill, drew a deep breath, and began to write. Just as the Registrar had said, the entry about Adora immediately faded, and Cain wrote the new one over it.

DG's heart ached. It was bad enough she was asking him to give up the chance of finding new love, now she'd made him erase the love he'd once had. He hung his head when he finished writing, handing the quill back to the Registrar. The Registry scroll wound itself up and closed with a snap. The Registrar plucked it out of the air. "My very best wishes to both of you, Your Highness, General." He bowed and left the room.

Cain stayed where he was, leaning over his hands braced on the table, head down and eyes closed. DG put a hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she murmured.

He sighed, and straightened up. "He's right. It was just a little unexpected, that's all." He met her eyes. "I'm married to you now, DG. That's how it ought to be in the Registry." He took her arm again and they headed out to the courtyard to join their guests.

His words echoed in DG's mind.  _I'm married to you now, DG._

_He's my husband now. Cain's my husband. Hus-band._

_Hoo boy._

* * *

The wedding ball went on until almost midnight. It was fortunate it ended when it did, or else DG might have been forced to issue some sort of royal edict to get everyone to go home.

The truth was that everyone in attendance was ecstatic, and felt like celebrating. DG wasn't ignorant of what her marriage meant to the kingdom. It meant hope that the dark days were over, that the new regime she represented would continue, and would be strong enough to beat back its enemies…those within their borders as well as those outside them. Most people in the O.Z., not just everyone here at the reception, considered this a joyous occasion, so DG and Cain did their best to smile and put on happy faces and accept everyone's protracted good wishes with grace.

 _I wonder what all this feels like when you're marrying someone you're in love with, because you actually want to,_  DG thought.  _I bet all the hoopla isn't nearly as irritating._

Azkadellia, Ambrose, Jeb and Raw ran interference for them, forming a protective wall to shield them from too much small talk and glad-handing. Her parents were smiling and mingling enough that an observer might have thought this was  _their_  wedding. Everyone commented on how well the Queen was looking. DG tried not to think about it, because she knew the improvement was temporary. She watched her mother in her carved wooden wheelchair, gracious and beautiful, and her heart tightened at the knowledge that she'd soon lose her.

Through it all, DG was never more grateful for Cain's calm presence. He never left her side, and knowing that he was just as eager for this to be over as she was made it all the more endurable. He had always been her friend, but now he was her  _partner_ , and she needed one.

She might have been imagining things, but she also thought she detected a subtle shift in his behavior. He seemed more attentive, more solicitous. Always a touch on her back when she moved, always a hand to help her out of a chair. Appearing at her side when she walked, elbow out. Pulling out her chair for her, assisting her down stairs, knowing her wobbliness on the cursed shoes.

_He's treating me like his wife._

_I_ _ am _ _his wife._

_Hoo boy._

They danced, because everyone was mad for them to do so and they couldn't come up with a reasonable excuse not to. Cain turned out to be a surprisingly graceful dancer. She'd half-expected to have to drag him about and suffer the flattening of her toes, but he'd led her confidently about the floor while everyone just  _stared._

"What is everyone looking at?" she asked as they danced, her words strained through her frozen smile.

"They're looking at the Queen," he answered without moving his lips, his own smile never faltering.

"I'm not Queen yet."

"You might as well be."

He was right about that. DG had assumed almost all of her mother's duties in preparation for the official transition, due to take place in two weeks. In fact, she and Cain had been moved into the royal suite the day before, although this night would be the first time either of them slept there.

"Well, I think they're looking at you," she said, still dancing and smiling until it hurt.

"Why would they do that?"

"Why wouldn't they? You're only the handsomest guy here."

At that, Cain actually looked at her, his phony smile melting into a real one. "You think so?"

"I've always thought so." She grinned as the tips of his ears went bright red. "Aww, you're blushing."

He shrugged it off and they kept dancing. Somehow, all the eyes on her didn't feel quite so heavy now. "Well, you clean up pretty well yourself," he said.

"Gee thanks, Cain. You sure know how to warm a girl's heart."

"I'm serious," he said, his expression suddenly matching his words. "When you came through those doors in the Hall…." He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "You're beautiful, you know."

DG smiled, feeling something shifting beneath her breastbone. "Thanks," she whispered.

He pulled her a little closer and DG fitted her head into the hollow of his shoulder, just the right height to accept it, his arm tight around her waist, and one dance turned into several.

* * *

Nervousness robbed them of words and slowed their steps as they approached their new suite, freshly redecorated to suit them, their things relocated here while the Queen and Ahamo were moved closer to the Queen's physicians.

The wedding guests had gone home. Azkadellia had gone to bed. Jeb had set off to rejoin his troops in the south. Ambrose was supervising the cleanup, and Raw had retreated to his meditation chamber, exhausted from all the emotion flying around all day.

It was just them. Alone. Even the servants seemed to be giving them a wide berth as they made the walk to their chambers. The doors were opened for them as they approached and shut behind them when they crossed into the sitting room. DG looked around, acutely aware that she was now utterly alone with her brand-new husband in their private living quarters.

She dropped her hand from Cain's arm and immediately bent to yank off her shoes, groaning. "Oh God, my feet are killing me."

"Who convinced you to wear those things?"

"I had to let Mother make a few decisions so she'd let me have my way with the things I really cared about."

"Like what?"

"Like this dress," she said, motioning to herself. "You should have seen some of the concoctions she wanted me in."

"But that one's so…nice."

"Thanks. I could have used that vote of confidence when I was talking her out of ruffles and butt-bows." She sat down and began rubbing her instep. Cain sat down at her side, keeping his distance. DG had to laugh at his expression. "Don't worry, I won't press you into footrub service. Not on your first day, anyway."

They sat in silence for a few moments.  _Elephant? What elephant? I don't see an elephant._

"Everything went well," he said, pointlessly.

She nodded. "I'm just glad it's over."

"You still have the coronation to get through."

"Don't think you're not going to suffer through that with me," she said, raising an accusing finger. "You get to stand there and endure all the pageantry, too."

"I don't have to wear that big fur thing, though."

DG shuddered. "Can't I hire some minimalist designer to re-imagine all the robes of state? Issey Miyake, maybe?"

"I imagine you can do whatever you want, DG." Their eyes met and a host of unintended meanings flittered back and forth.

 _I am taking this bull by the horns. So to speak._  "Look," she said, plunging ahead. "Let's not drag this out any more than we have to. There's your room, there's my room. I know we've said we're not gonna share, but…" She sighed, hoping she could get through this without spontaneously combusting. "You've taken on a pretty thankless job here, and, well…if you want to, you could, uh…you know. Come in. With me, I mean." She ventured a glance up at Cain, and to her surprise, he looked angry. She frowned. "Wyatt?"

His jaw was clenching. "I don't want to hear you say such a thing again."

"What do you mean?"

"DG, you're…you're…" He paused and composed himself. "You're  _offering_  yourself to me as some kind of, what? A perk?"

"Well, I hadn't really thought of it that way…"

"You think I'd consider sex with you as compensation for services rendered?"

"It sounds all weird when you say it like  _that!_ " she exclaimed. "I didn't mean for it to sound so…creepy! I just thought, well, it is our wedding night, and isn't sex usually a perk of being married?"

His eyebrows had shot up into his forehead. "You're saying you  _want_  to?"

"Well…no."

"Okay, then." He sighed. "DG, I don't expect anything. And I didn't agree to marry you because I thought sex would come with it."

DG nodded. "I know."

"We know there'll come a time when…when we'll have to. When we decide it's time for a baby. But I don't want or expect anything else from you, okay?"

"Okay." There didn't seem to be anything else to say. "Well…I guess I'll turn in, then. I'm exhausted."

"I'm pretty tired myself."

They stood up together, that awkwardness back in full force, stifling the easy camaraderie they'd always had. "Good night," DG said, and turned toward her room.

"DG, wait," Cain said. She turned back. "I just want to…hey, look at me, okay?" DG met his gaze.  _God, people say it all the time but it's really true, he does have the most amazing blue eyes ever._  "I just want to tell you that…I'm gonna be there with you. No matter what happens. I meant those vows I made today." He reached out and grasped her free hand. "I know you're scared to lose your mother. I know you never expected to be Queen. But whatever comes down, you're gonna have me in your corner. You got that, princess?"

DG smiled, his words forming a warm little cocoon around her heart, melting some of the ice that terror had formed there. "That's Mrs. Cain to you."

Cain grinned, then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Well then, goodnight, Mrs. Cain."

"Goodnight, Mr. Cain."


	6. Chapter 6

_three months later…_

Ambrose walked into the drawing room, checking his timepiece. The ambassador from Flornistan had been waiting for ten minutes, and he was a cantankerous bastard under the best of circumstances, which these decidedly were not. The man couldn't have chosen a worse time for a state visit.

Ambassador Montevo jumped to his feet the minute Ambrose entered. "I have been kept waiting here  _long enough!_ " he shouted.

"Indeed, Mr. Ambassador. Please come with me."

The man grumbled and ruffled his feathers, but came along willingly enough. Ambrose braced himself for the tirade that was sure to ensue once he realized he wouldn't be seeing the Queen, as he clearly expected to. He led Montevo to Cain's office and opened the door, leading the man inside. Cain got up from behind his desk, tugged on his vest and came around. "General, may I present Ambassador Montevo of Flornistan. Ambassador, His Royal Highness the Queen's Consort, General Cain."

Montevo was turning several shades of purple. "Unacceptable!" he spluttered. Cain made no reaction except a slight arch in his right eyebrow. "I came here to speak with the Queen!"

"Her Majesty is unavailable. You can talk to me, or you can leave," Cain said, evenly.

"Unavailable?  _Unavailable?_ "

"We were not apprised of your visit in advance, Ambassador. Is it reasonable to expect us to drop everything just because you happened by?" Ambrose smothered a chuckle. Cain had a way of putting stuffy diplomats in their places.

"I demand to see the Queen!"

Ambrose could tell Cain was getting irritated. "Mr. Ambassador, as you may have heard, the Queen's mother is dying. Her Majesty is attending her in her last days. I'm not going to call her away from her mother's deathbed because you think you're too good to speak to me. I have the Queen's full authority and she has empowered me to deal with you on her behalf." He crossed his arms. "You know, your insistence is making me wonder if you chose this day for a visit hoping to take advantage of Her Majesty's grief and turn it to your own advantage."

Montevo was past purple and into the ultraviolet regions. He spluttered indignantly. "I will not tolerate such insults! You overstep your bounds, sir!"

"I'll take that under advisement. Now, then. Do you have business to discuss with me, or shall I have you escorted out?"

"That little Otherworlder waif is trying to give me the slip!" Montevo cried. "She's afraid to face me so she hides behind her mother's illness!"

Ambrose cringed. Oh, man. Them was fightin' words, as DG might say. Cain's face had gone deadly expressionless. He took a step forward. "You forget your place, Ambassador. You will speak of Her Majesty with respect or I will personally throw you out of this palace, is that understood?" He took yet another step forward. They were almost nose to nose now, Cain lowering his voice to a very intentional growl. "I would further remind you that's my  _wife_ you're talking about, and you  _will_  keep a civil tongue in your head when you do or you'll be helped along your way courtesy of my boot on your ass, got it?"

Incredibly, Montevo, who had always been impervious to threats or intimidation, seemed cowed by this. Then again, no one did "intimidating" quite like Wyatt Cain, and nothing brought it out in him faster than someone stepping out of line where the Queen was concerned. "I…apologize," Montevo said. Ambrose's jaw dropped open.

Cain nodded. "Very well. Now. For the last time, state your business."

"His Excellency the Prime Minister of Flornistan wishes me to convey his displeasure at the buildup of troops and increased activity of scout patrols along the Flornish border."

Cain considered this. "All right, his displeasure has been conveyed. Anything else?"

Montevo spluttered some more. "Do you not have any response to this, Your Highness?"

"I dislike that title. General Cain will do. And no, I don't have a response. Our activities along your borders are perfectly legal and don't violate our treaty. We're within our rights to maintain a military presence in our own damn kingdom where the possibility of a threat exists."

"Possibility of a  _threat?_  What threat do we Flornish pose to the mighty O.Z.?"

"Ambassador, you can pretend you don't know what I'm talking about but I'm tired and I have lost my ability to bullshit. Your Prime Minister's government is giving refuge to fugitive Longcoats who are wanted for war crimes here and refuses to extradite them, instead choosing to protest its ignorance of their existence when we have incontrovertible proof that they are gathering in large numbers in your country and are being supplied with aid, weapons and strategic support by the Flornish army. Her Majesty can only assume that such deception, and such support given to her enemies, represents a threat to the O.Z. And there you have it."

The Ambassador had now gone pale and appeared to be speechless, a condition Ambrose had never observed in him.

Cain had taken his seat behind his desk again. "So if there's nothing else, Ambassador, I am extremely busy."

"N…nothing, Your Hi…uh, General. Nothing else."

"Then good day. Ambrose, will you…"

Ambrose was already moving to escort the Ambassador out.

* * *

Cain finished his paperwork as quickly as he could and headed back to the Queen Mother's chamber. Ahamo, Azkadellia and DG were spending almost all their time there these past few days, as the doctors said she was likely to go at any time. The sad-faced valet let him into the dim chamber, the scent of flowers, illness and burning sage almost overpowering.

DG, sitting on a cushion at her mother's bedside, looked up as he entered and smiled wearily. Cain went to his usual spot on a couch near the windows, present but not close at hand as the rest of the family was. The Queen Mother appeared to be asleep, but he could hear her labored breathing from where he sat.

After a few moments, DG quietly rose to her feet and joined him on the couch. "You look tired," he whispered, reaching out to rub her shoulder.

"I'm fine."

"You should eat something. Take a nap."

"I said I'm fine." Her eyes stayed on her mother's still form. "Did you talk to the Ambassador?"

"Yes. It was as we thought. The Prime Minister is in a snit over the buildup on the border. I told that arrogant bastard that as long as his country harbored and aided wanted fugitives who planned to invade us, we'd damn well maintain our military presence on the border."

At that, DG turned to look at him. "Came right out with it, huh?"

"I'm sick of playing wink-wink with those people. What do you want to do?"

She thought for a moment. "Let them sweat it for awhile, wondering what we'll do now that we know about it. As long as they don't know about Jeb's men inside the refugee Longcoat camps."

He shook his head, lips pressed tight together, one hand still rubbing her shoulder. "You shouldn't have to think about all this now," he said, half under his breath.

"Well, I wish I could just snap my fingers and make the world stop while my mother is sick, but I can't," she said, her voice sharp. Cain said nothing. DG sagged, putting two fingers to her forehead. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"That's my job."

"What, to put up with my crap?" DG said, a small smile creeping onto her face.

"Someone's got to do it," Cain said, smiling back.

The Queen Mother was stirring. "Azkadellia," she breathed. DG got up and returned to her mother's bedside. Ahamo sat near the head of the bed, leaning over his wife, and Az sat near her mother's feet.

"I'm here, Mother," Az said, leaning forward and taking her mother's hand.

The Queen Mother opened her eyes and looked at her elder daughter. "You must…forgive yourself," she whispered. "For me, please."

Tears dripped from Az's eyes. "I'll try, Mother."

"DG…"

"Yes, Mother?"

"You will be great," her mother rasped, each word an effort, putting special emphasis on the word "great." "Don't be scared."

DG nodded. "I'll try," she choked. Her mother beckoned her closer, and DG leaned in. The Queen Mother said something, very quietly; Cain couldn't make out the words. DG didn't seem to respond, she just drew back again, hanging onto her mother's hand.

The Queen Mother looked up at her husband and lifted one shaking hand to touch his face. "I'm not afraid," she breathed. "But I will miss you."

Ahamo hung onto her hand but couldn't speak. Cain felt like he was intruding on a very private family moment, even if DG insisted that he was part of the family too, he didn't feel it was his place to be here and wouldn't have been if he hadn't wanted to support DG. The family was like a tableau, sitting around their dying matriarch, each of them touching her, watching each breath, waiting for the next one…until there wasn't a next one.

She died quietly, simply ceasing to draw breath. She was still, so still.

Cain watched Ahamo's face crumple, his tears wetting his wife's skin, and wondered if that would be him someday, watching DG die.

_Don't think about it. You'll probably go first, anyway._

Azkadellia collapsed in sobs onto the bed, her hands on her mother's leg. DG was very quiet, unmoving as a statue. Slowly, so slowly, she rose to her feet and leaned over to kiss her mother's forehead, then straightened up and released her hand. She turned around and took a few wobbly steps toward him, but Cain was already there. He caught her up just as she collapsed into his arms and held her as she released her grief, her tears wetting his shirt.

* * *

DG sat in her window seat looking out at the spires of the city all around, lit by brilliant moonlight.  _The Central City of the O.Z. My kingdom. Still sounds so weird. And it's really mine now, with Mother gone…_  But she had to shut that down, fast. It was still too new, too fresh to dwell on.

A week now since the long funeral cortege had wound its way through the city, grieving people lining the streets, throwing flowers, holding up signs. Her own carriage had followed directly behind the open hearse, her mother's body laid out on a bed of silk and surrounded by flowers so that all could get one last glimpse at the former Queen. She'd heard her people shouting to her, and normally she would have looked at them, waved to them, but not that day. That day she had stared straight ahead, clutching Cain's hand so tightly it had to have hurt, although he'd never complained.

That was the first day she'd begun to really see the wisdom of her decision to marry, and been glad for it, as much as she'd done it against her inclination. With her mother gone, and her father increasingly distracted and unhelpful, DG didn't know what she would have done without Cain. Azkadellia was good company, and a companion in her magical studies, but she didn't like to involve herself in affairs of state, and she was often fatigued. It was Cain who she talked to about running the country, him she sent to represent her when she wasn't available, him she vented to when she was frustrated and felt inadequate, and he was the only one who could really calm her down when she'd worked herself up into a lather. Cain would have been her friend no matter what, but he wouldn't have been able to serve the role he was currently serving if he hadn't been her Consort.

There was a quiet knock at her bedroom door, then the knob turned and the door opened a little. "DG?"

"Come in."

Cain shut the door behind him and crossed the room to sit beside her on the window seat. "You all right?"

She nodded. "I'm getting by."

"You were awful quiet today." He shook his head a little, staring at his hands. "I wish I could just…fix this for you."

"It's sweet that you want to." She met his eyes. "Will you…" She trailed off, feeling embarrassed at what she'd been about to ask.

He frowned. "Will I what? Come on."

_Oh, hell. If you can't let your own husband see when you're feeling vulnerable, you're in trouble._  "Will you just…hold me awhile?"

His face softened slightly. "Sure. C'mere." He reached out and drew her close. DG swung her legs over his lap and relaxed into his arms, his chest solid and warm under her cheek. She sighed and let herself go limp, because this was her safe place.

"I miss her," she whispered.

"I know," he murmured. He was rubbing her back, his cheek resting against her hair.

"I feel like I'm supposed to be this strong Queen, standing on my own, not needing anyone's help…but sometimes I'm just so lost, and she always knew what to say, and what to do."

"You can't be strong all the time," Cain said. "No one can. That's why you have your father, and Azkadellia, and Ambrose and Raw." He hesitated. "That's why you have me, DG."

She was quiet for a time, lulled by the steady bellows-draw of his chest as he breathed. "I heard someone say one time that you're never really a grownup until your parents die."

He didn't respond for a moment, his hand making slow strokes up and down her back. "My parents died when I was twenty," he said.

"Oh yeah?" He so rarely talked about his family, apart from Jeb. DG wanted to encourage him.

"We'd just had Jeb, and they were so excited to be grandparents. They only got to enjoy it for a year."

"What happened?"

He hesitated, but went on. "Three men broke into their house, looking for money and things they could sell. My father stupidly tried to stop them. The thieves killed them both."

DG lifted her head and looked into his eyes, seeing there a very old sadness. "Oh, Cain. That's awful."

"It was a long time ago."

"That's why you became a Tin Man, isn't it?"

He nodded. "That's why."

She reached up and touched his face; he looked at her with a questioning expression. "You've had way too much tragedy in your life."

"You have, too." He shook his head. "Listen to me. I'm supposed to be comforting  _you_ , here. This isn't about my ancient history."

"I want to know about your history. You never talk about your past."

"It's hard to see it. It's like…" He stared off into space, thinking. "It's like it all happened to someone else."

"Sometimes my life back in Kansas doesn't seem real, either."

"I was in a tin suit, you were in another world."

She smiled. "Yeah, we're quite the pair." DG drew back a little, disengaging from his embrace. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

DG sat at his side and took his hand, looking past his shoulder and out the window. Was this the right time? Was she even sure it was what she wanted?

Yes, she was sure. She'd been sure for awhile, she'd just been waiting for the right time to bring it up.

"Wyatt?"

"Hmm?"

"There is something else you can do for me," she said, keeping her tone even.

"What's that?"

DG met his eyes. "Get me pregnant."


	7. Chapter 7

_forty-three days later_

"Isn't there anything else?" Cain said, pawing through the papers on his desk.

Ambrose, sprawled in a chair with his legs over the arm, sighed and flapped his arms. "There's nothing else. We've gone over every report. We've discussed every meeting. We've gone over the Queen's calendar for the next three months. We're _done_ , Cain." He jumped up and leaned over Cain's desk. "You can't put it off anymore."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm her first minister. I know tonight's the first night for…you know."

Cain stared at his desktop, his eyes far away. "Why do I feel like I'm about to face the firing squad?"

Ambrose peered at him, his head cocked. "Forgive me, I just have to say this. You're telling me that you and DG have seriously never been together?"

"No!" Cain exclaimed, his head snapping up. "We haven't, if it's any of your business!"

"Sorry, I just thought…I mean, I know that was the plan, but you've been married almost five months now and, well…things happen."

"Some things don't happen." Cain sagged back in his chair, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. "I've never even kissed her, Ambrose. Not on the lips, anyway." He jerked upright. "I'm not discussing this, not even with you. It's a private matter between me and DG."

"Of course it is. And her doctors, and Azkadellia, and Ahamo, and the court gossip train…"

Cain's head thumped to the desk. "Take me out back and shoot me. You'll be doing me a favor."

"You knew it'd come to this one day."

"I didn't know it'd feel so…sleazy."

Ambrose frowned. "Sleazy?"

He sighed. "I feel like I'm being sent out to stud, Ambrose. Like they do with farm animals."

"You're thinking too much about this." He leaned forward across the desk. "You know, regardless of your relationship to its mother, this will still be _your child._ Doesn't that make you even a little bit happy?"

It would, Cain thought, if he was even sure Ambrose was right. The fact was that he was afraid of what his role would be in this child's life. If they had a girl, she would be heir to the throne, and if they had a boy, he'd be royal by blood, but Cain would still just be…the Consort. The commoner the Queen had married. Would their son or daughter be whisked away with tutors and governesses and courtiers to be brought up in the royal tradition? Would he even get the chance to teach it anything? Would they let him be a father?

_DG will want you to be a father. She won't let you be cut out._

He wanted to believe that, but things had a way of running away with you around here. Things you didn't intend just ended up coming to be through sheer inertia. DG's best intentions might not be enough.

_Assert yourself. You're no shrinking violet. Make sure you're that child's father, in act as well as in name._

He looked up at Ambrose. "Yeah," he said. "It does. But it's still weird."

"I've no doubt. Just get it over with."

He sighed again, exhausted by the anxiety. "All right. Wish me luck."

* * *

DG was reading in their sitting room when he entered, but she immediately put her book aside and jumped up at the sight of him. "There you are!"

He nodded. "Yes, here I am."

"I haven't seen you all day. You've been avoiding me, haven't you?" she said, hands on her hips.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're just as freaked out as I am about tonight."

"I'm not freaked out."

"Are you calling your Queen a liar? I could have you beheaded, you know."

He arched one eyebrow. "Well, that would be counterproductive." He took a step closer. "Besides, I didn't think I was talking to my Queen. I thought I was talking to my wife."

DG smiled. "Yeah, you were. And as such it's my job to give you shit."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "A job you take seriously." He sighed. "All right, I guess…we ought to…" He trailed off.

She nodded. "Better just get it over with."

"I'm going to, uh…go get cleaned up," he said, nodding towards his room. "Why don't you go on in, and I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay," she said, her shyness all over her posture and her face, turning back the clock and making her seem even younger than she was.

Cain fled the sitting room and escaped into his own rooms, leaning against the door once he'd shut it. _Get a grip. You can do this. It's just sex. You've had sex before._

_Not in ten years, I haven't._

_It's not like you can forget how. And at least you don't have to worry about your technique. Just get the job done, quick as you can. She doesn't want any more than that._

_It's just sex._

_It's not just sex, it's sex with DG. My friend, my_ platonic _friend. She just isn't that to me, and I'm not that to her._

_You can manage it. She's hardly a hideous hag, after all. Close your eyes and think of the Zone._

_God. I think I'm having a panic attack._

_You're not worried about having sex with her. You're worried that she's horrified about having sex with_ you. _You're wondering if she finds you old and repulsive and will be choking back tears the whole time._

_That's ridiculous. She doesn't feel that way._

_You sure?_

Cain strode across to his bathroom, wishing there was a mute function on one's internal dialogue, and headed for the shower.

* * *

DG lay in her bed, covers primly tucked under her arms, keeping to one side to leave room for her soon-to-be bed partner…although she wasn't clear on whether he was going to sleep here, or just…you know, and then go back to his own room.

She was wearing a nightshirt, but had removed her underwear. She'd thought about going naked, but after trying it for a moment had decided she'd be more comfortable with her top half covered. It seemed ridiculous to be worrying about Cain seeing her naked given what they were about to do, but she couldn't help it.

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

_It's okay, you can do this._

_Will everything be different after this? You know sex changes things between people._

_We'll still be friends. That's all we've ever been. Friends._

_Friends who have sex._

_Only because I want to have a baby. I need to have a baby._

_He'll be such a great father._

She smiled to herself, imagining Cain teaching their son or daughter to ride a horse, taking them hiking, giving them airplane rides. Did they do airplane rides in the O.Z.? She hadn't been around many children here.

_I'll be lucky to have him for a…um…parenting partner._

_But he has to get me pregnant first. So just relax. It's not going to go well if you're wound up tighter than a snare drum._

_God, it's just Cain. He knows you better than anyone, and vice versa._

_And he's about to know you in the Biblical sense._

DG shut her thoughts down with a hard snap and tried to clear her mind.

She just about had a nice, soothing mental image going of the lake at Finaqua on when the door to her bedroom opened, sending a rush of adrenaline through her body. Cain entered, dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt. He shut the door quietly behind him and padded over to the bed.

DG tried and failed to remember if she'd ever seen him without shoes on.

He stood by the side of the bed for a moment, uncertain, looking down at her for cues. "Hi," she said.

"Hi." He swallowed hard, then turned around and sat down on the side of the bed. DG watched his back, which was all of him she could see. Even his shoulder blades looked tense. How did he do that?

He lifted his knees and quickly shucked off his pajama pants, then swung his legs under the covers and stretched out at her side. She had to admire the ninja-like choreography…she hadn't gotten so much as a glimpse of him. "Are you ready?" he said.

"I've been ready."

"Okay." He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her. "You have done this before, right?" He sounded worried, as if this had just occurred to him.

She smiled. "Yes, Wyatt. I have done the deed before."

"Oh. Good."

He went back to staring at the ceiling. DG watched his profile. _What's he waiting for? Me to make the first move?_

After about thirty seconds her curiosity got the better of her. "Umm…what are we waiting for?"

He made an irritated sound in the back of his throat. "I kinda have to get to a certain state, if you know what I mean."

"Oh. Ohhhhh," she said, understanding. "Is there a problem?"

"No! It's just…" He blew air through his teeth. "Nervousness is not my friend right now, and that's about all I got."

"Right. Well…maybe if you try and relax, and…"

"DG," he said. "Can you just be quiet? I'm trying to think sexy thoughts here."

"Oh," she said, her pique rising. "Well, I'm sorry lying in bed next to me isn't sexy enough for you that you need all these extra thoughts."

"Don't start that, please. Not right now, at this moment."

"Start what?"

"Acting like a nagging wife!"

"Oh, I see how it is! The truth comes out! That is a misogynistic attitude about women you've got there, _Wyatt!_ "

"How is it misogyny to observe that wives sometimes nag, and so far you haven't and that's been far and away my favorite part of our marriage?"

"Some marriage," DG grumped.

"This was all your idea, you know. I was happy being Defense Minister, ordering people around and minding my own business, when suddenly out of the blue your father's asking me to marry you."

"Well, don't do me any favors!" she cried, feeling his words like a stab through her chest.

"I _did_ do you a favor, and I'm trying to do you another one now, so could you kindly piss off?"

She sat straight up in bed at that, turning to shout down into his face. "Having a child is _not_ a favor to me!" she said. "It won't be _my_ child, it'll be _ours!_ But if it's such a chore, maybe we ought to just forget the whole thing!" She scrambled out of bed, grateful that her nightshirt was long enough to cover her nakedness, and stalked over to the window, choking back tears.

She heard the rustle of fabric behind her as he put his pants back on, then quiet footsteps. He stopped a few feet behind her.

For a long time, they both stood there staring out the window. DG got herself under control, hoping he didn't notice her shuddering breaths and sniffles but knowing that it was wishful thinking to imagine that anything about her escaped his notice.

"They say the first one's the hardest," he finally said.

"First one what?"

"First fight."

She turned, wrapping her arms around her middle. "Well, it's hard enough." She saw the sorrow and regret in his eyes, and felt her own rising in her throat. "I'm sorry," she said, stepping into his arms and wrapping her own around his waist.

"Me, too. We're just tense about this, and we're taking it out on each other."

She drew back. "Cain, are you…are you really sorry you married me? I know it messed up your life, and…"

He took her by the upper arms and gave her a gentle shake. "Don't say that. I'm not sorry. I didn't mean what I said, I was…I was annoyed." He reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "DG, I'd resigned myself to spending the rest of my life alone. Maybe Jeb would have some kids and I'd see them once in awhile. I'd sit on the sidelines and watch you meet someone and marry and have your own life, and it wouldn't include me. Then this amazing thing happened…you asked me to _share_ that life with you." He sighed. "I know I'm not what you wished for. I know that what we have isn't…well, it isn't what most married people have. But that doesn't mean it isn't good, or it doesn't mean anything. Right?"

DG smiled and wiped at her eyes. "Right." She grasped his hands in hers. "So…should we try this again?"

"Yeah. Come on, Mrs. Cain. Let me take you to bed."

She grinned and let him lead her back there, pulling back the covers for her. He went around to the other side as she watched. He was a little less ninja as he removed his pajama pants this time; DG got a glimpse of his muscled flank as he slid between the covers.

"Start up the sexy thoughts," she said.

"I'll try."

She waited, but another few minutes went by and he hadn't moved. _Don't say anything. You'll just stress him out more. Pressure to perform isn't what he needs right now, he's got enough._

"Dammit," he finally swore, half under his breath. She turned to look at him. "I'm just…I don't know. I've never had to do this in these circumstances before."

"I'd hope not."

"I must be more anxious than I thought."

DG propped up on one elbow. "Can I help?" she ventured.

"Help? I don't see how."

She held back an eyeroll, and decided that this was a show, not tell situation. "Just close your eyes, and relax," she said.

He looked at her for a moment, puzzled, then did as she asked.

DG slid closer and slipped her hand under the covers. It came to rest on his hip and she slid it across and down, between his legs; he flinched and sucked in a quick breath as she took him in her hand. "Oh," he whispered. "Yeah, that's…helpful."

She smiled but said nothing, just gently stroked him. His breath sped a little and he began to harden almost immediately. A few more strokes and he opened his eyes, meeting hers. "Okay?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Yeah."

DG withdrew and lay back down, and Cain rolled over and came to her. She rested her hands above her head and shut her eyes, trusting him to take care of her when she was vulnerable, as she trusted no one else. She parted her legs to admit him and shifted her hips to let him in, sighing at the familiar sensation. She felt his breath on her neck, his hands at her sides propping himself up, and let her body move with him, going in her mind to the beach, the waves lapping on the shoreline, back and forth, up and back.

It didn't take long. She felt him shudder, a whisper of her name on his breath, and it was over. He sagged against her for the briefest of moments, then rolled away. DG kept her eyes closed, trying to use creative visualization to help things along,as if thoughts of Olympics swimming races might help Cain's seed find its mark. Her doctors told her that the three nights beginning with this one were her optimal times to conceive; now she could only wait and see.

Cain was catching his breath at her side. DG opened her eyes and looked over at him, and was immediately overcome by a fit of the giggles. His mouth curled into a smirk as she chortled, her hands to her mouth. "What's so funny?" he said, a languid looseness to his voice.

"I was just wondering," she said, her words giggle-interrupted, "what do you think the court protocol advisors would think was an appropriate thing to say at this moment?"

"Job well done?"

"Maybe, thanks? For the sperm?"

He snorted. "You're welcome, I guess. It isn't like they're good for anything else."

Her giggles turned into loud guffaws. Cain just lay there, an odd chuckle escaping him every so often, until she got herself under control. "I could be pregnant right now, you know," she said, once she'd quieted down.

He turned his head and met her eyes. "Yeah, you could."

"But…tomorrow, and the next night. Just in case."

"Right."

"And if nothing takes, then next month."

He nodded. "Well, we got the first time over with. I won't be as nervous tomorrow."

"Me neither."

He held her gaze for a moment, then sat up. "Well…I'll be off to bed, then."

DG nodded, feeling vaguely disappointed. "Good night."

Cain reached down for his pajama pants and slid into them under the covers, then got out of bed. "See you tomorrow, then," he said, smiling down at her.

"Sleep well."

"I think I will." He reached down and touched her face briefly, then turned and left the room.

DG curled around her stomach, wondering if anything was happening in there. She wouldn't know for a couple of weeks, when she either would or would not get her period.

_I could be a mother in nine months._

DG had thought about motherhood with a view towards wanting to participate in it at some point, but it had always seemed like something in the far-off future. She wasn't sure why, but being here and being who she was had made her more anxious to get started. Her mother would have said that she was feeling the responsibility of continuing the line, which was probably partly true. Now that her mother was gone, she and Azkadellia were the only surviving members of the House of Gale, and Az's abdication meant that any children she might have would still be royal, but could not inherit the throne. The knowledge that if she died tomorrow there'd be no one to assume control, leaving the kingdom that she'd come to love as her own home open to potentially war-starting power struggles between various distant familial branches, had changed her worldview significantly.

As she lay there in her large, queenly bedroom, it occurred to her for the first time that her career change probably had a lot to do with it. She'd always thought of having children as something she'd like to do once her career was established…except that this was her career now. Being Queen. And she'd never be done. So if she wanted children, now was as good a time as any…better, in fact, since everyone seemed to agree that younger was better than older for the having-kids process.

Besides, as Ambrose had delicately pointed out, an heirless Queen was a tempting target for assassins, being that if someone wanted to stamp out her lineage, they had to do it before she had a child.

That was a distressing thought. The idea that someone might wish her harm wasn't so distressing. She was used to that. But the idea that someone might wish to eradicate her entire family line was more upsetting. It was yet another aspect of her life that made her glad she'd married Cain, because she knew without having to hear him swear it that he'd die before allowing harm to come to her, or to their child if one were in the offing.

She sighed, feeling drowsiness steal over her. _Well, for all the anxiety about having sex with him…it wasn't so bad._

_Hmm. He felt pretty good, in fact, even when it was so businesslike._

She spiraled down towards sleep, her last stray thoughts chasing her down.

_I wonder what it'd feel like with him if it was for real._


	8. Chapter 8

_five months later_

DG was supposed to be writing an address to the OZian council. She had a pretty good start. "Honorable Councilors and friends…"

Well, she had _a_ start, if not a good one. Ambrose usually helped her with her speeches, but as time went by she'd begun to feel like she ought to be writing them herself, so she'd insisted on going solo for this one. That may have been her first mistake.

The blank paper mocked her. Her pen begged to be put to use, but she just couldn't seem to keep her mind on her task. She slumped at her large desk, her head propped on her hands. To an observer it would have looked like she was staring into space.

In actuality, she was staring at her husband's ass.

The Queen and her Consort shared an office now. After a few months they'd gotten tired of walking the hallways between their two offices, so they'd relocated to a larger space they could share. Their desks faced each other on opposite sides of the room, separated by a sitting area. At the moment, he was dictating a letter to the field commanders, walking back and forth in front of his desk in a dark pinstriped vest and rolled-up shirtsleeves that showed off his muscled forearms.

_Damn. His ass in those pants is insane._

DG made herself look away. It wasn't…appropriate.

_Why the hell not? I'm his wife, aren't I? That ass is all mine._

_No, it isn't. You're not a real wife. You're a…technical wife. And that ass is not yours except for three nights a month, and even then you've never laid so much as a finger on it._

_Stop looking. That way lies madness._

_Why madness?_

_Because he's just Cain. It's better if you don't think of him as…you know. A man._

_A man with an ass that could cause traffic accidents._

_Cut it out. How would you like it if you caught him staring at your boobs?_

DG had to think about that one.

_I might not mind._

_Not a man, remember? Just Cain._

_But he is a man. A very masculine man. A man that half the women in the castle…and some of the men…drool over on a regular basis. And guess what? You're a woman. And you have eyes._

_It doesn't matter._

_You've seen the way the women look at him. Admit it, it gives you a little bit of a thrill to know that they want him, but you have him._

_I don't have him. Not really. I never will. And furthermore, I don't want him._

_Keep telling yourself that. Maybe it'll start being true._

DG had zoned out a little, her eyes downcast. She jumped when Cain put a hand on her shoulder. "Wha!" she exclaimed.

"Thought we'd lost you, there," he said.

"Sorry. Guess I was just…daydreaming."

"We have Receiving in fifteen minutes."

"Oh…right." She capped her pen and put away her speech, but not before Cain saw its profound lack of content.

"I see you made some good headway there," he said.

"Sarcasm, great. That's what I need right now." She stood up and looked around for her shoes.

DG had never felt comfortable in the gowns favored by her mother and sister, but after some initial resistance she had come to see that jeans and hoodies weren't exactly fitting for her station. Today she was wearing a black pencil skirt with a front slit and a coral-colored cashmere sweater. She loved cashmere, and an excellent perk of royalty was the ability to have as many pieces of cashmere clothing as she wanted.

Which wasn't to say she'd lost all her former tomboy tendencies. She often wore slacks and still wore slip-on sneakers most of the time, only deigning to wear heels when she was being Queenly. Receiving definitely meant Queenly, so now was the time for heels…if she could find them. One was under her desk where she'd kicked it off, but the other one was nowhere to be found. "Where's my other shoe?" she said.

"Huh?" Cain was putting on his jacket.

"Shoe. I can't find it."

"Looking for this?" said Ambrose, who'd just come in. He bent and held up her other shoe.

"Yes," she said, grabbing it and steadying herself on Ambrose's arm while she put it on. They left the office and headed for the drawing room, where Receiving was held every Friday afternoon from two o'clock to five.

Receiving was one of DG's contributions to the royal routine. She'd been surprised at how remote her mother had held herself from her subjects. Waving from afar, communicating via letters read over broadcast by others, seldom allowing contact with subjects except the very cream of society, who were occasionally invited to balls.

Upon becoming Queen, DG had decided that she wanted to have a time set aside when anybody, anybody at all, could come and talk to her. Report a problem, or make a request, or offer an opinion, or even just to meet her and say hello. This decision had nearly driven Cain to distraction with the security issues it had raised, but Raw had suggested installing Viewers as screeners to check for anyone who might wish her harm, and he had grumbled and bitched and given in.

Now, even he admitted that he couldn't imagine not having it. This open-door policy had greatly endeared DG to her subjects, and the queue for Receiving was long. The wait list was up to three months now, and DG was seriously considering adding another session.

The three of them came into the small lounge off the rear of the drawing room where DG always got ready and waited to be announced. She didn't wear signifiers of state on a regular basis, but the people who came to Receiving had certain expectations, so it was dress-up time, as she called it.

She opened her closet in the corner of the lounge and pulled out a heavy white silk sash. She adjusted it across her chest and let Ambrose pin a jeweled badge to it. Cain drew a set of keys out of his pocket and opened up the case that held her diadem. She had many of them, and crowns as well, but this one was the smallest and least ostentatious, so it was the one she usually wore when such an ornament was expected.

"Do we have anyone interesting today, Glitch?" she asked, standing in front of a mirror to pin up her hair. She was asking not who had come to be received, because he wouldn't know, but who had been invited to attend. Receiving wasn't just a chance for the people to have an audience with her, it was the main social event of the court's week. The drawing room would be full of courtiers, businessmen, politicians, socialites and entertainers who just wanted the chance to hang out in the Queen's presence for the afternoon. DG didn't issue the invitations herself, the Social Office decided who would be invited. Being asked to attend Receiving was a much sought-after point of social status in the O.Z. DG often lingered after Receiving was over to talk with the invited attendees. They could be an important source of intelligence for what was going on in the kingdom that might otherwise never reach her ears. Besides, it was fun. Life in the Spire could be a little isolating, and she was too social a person not to take advantage of the opportunity for conversation.

Ambrose thought for a moment. "Well, the new Earl of Lambia is here. It's his first visit to court. I understand he's very eager to meet you."

"I'll want to say hello, then. We need to stay friendly with the Lambians."

"Indeed."

DG centered the diadem over her forehead and pinned it in place. "There. Queenly enough, you think?"

"You look lovely," Ambrose said, smiling. He cleared his throat, glancing between them and fidgeting. "Are you two all right?" he asked, quietly.

She sighed. "We're fine, Glitch."

"I just worry that you're getting discouraged…"

"She said we're fine," Cain said.

"It's early yet, is all I'm saying."

DG turned. "Five months of trying isn't what I'd call early," she said. "It wouldn't be so frustrating if there was a reason, some problem we could all put our heads to, but the doctors say I'm fine and Cain's fine and there's absolutely no logical reason for why I'm not pregnant." She clapped her hands together. "But we have another chance in a few days and it's going to happen this time."

Cain looked over at her. "It is?"

"Absolutely. I have decided that this is the month, and by this time next week I will be good and knocked up."

He smiled at her, the affection in the expression tinged with sadness. "Oh you have, huh?"

"Yes, because it's a lot better than feeling like it's hopeless and it'll never happen."

Cain stepped close and slipped one arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him for a moment, sighing. He had a way of making her feel like nothing could touch her or hurt her ever again, and even though she knew it was an illusion, it was often a welcome one. "It'll happen," he murmured, giving her a brief squeeze.

"Showtime," Ambrose said, tapping his watch. DG and Cain stepped to the door. She straightened her spine and drew her shoulders back, hearing her mother's voice in her mind, lecturing her recalcitrant daughter about the "regal bearing." Being regal was something DG didn't think she'd ever feel totally comfortable doing. More often than not she was to be found sprawled on a couch reading security briefings or sitting cross-legged on the floor talking to one of her advisors. But she was conscious of what her people expected, and what they needed her to be. She could put on that regal bearing when she needed to. Being Queen, she'd come to appreciate, was more than actually ruling. It was making the people feel secure, and confident in her, and that required some amount of pageantry and play-acting.

She took Cain's arm, smiling to herself as she felt him straighten his own back. The people had expectations of him, too. Cain was very popular among her subjects, probably because they saw him as one of them. A man of common origins who'd risen to a position of great power and sat at the Queen's right hand. The people called him "The General" and spoke of him as they would a friend of whom they were proud.

Ambrose peeked out the door and nodded to the chamberlain. She heard the low murmurings of the people in the drawing room cease, and then the chamberlain's voice. "My lords, ladies and gentlemen…Her Majesty, the Queen."

* * *

Cain dealt with the uncomfortable scrutiny of being married to the Queen by pretending that none of them were looking at _him._ It was partially true, of course. Anywhere he accompanied DG, most of the attention was on her, and he didn't envy her the burden. He knew in his head that he was being examined and reported on and tittered about in his own right, but he'd gotten pretty good at pretending he was just a Tin Man, looking out for DG's safety, fading into the background, and not thinking about the fact that he wasn't a Tin Man but the Consort. Legally, the Prince Consort, although anyone who referred to him by that title in his hearing was strongly encouraged not to do so again. From what he could gather, most people in the O.Z. referred to him as "The General." That suited him fine.

The truth was, even after almost a year, Cain still felt like an imposter. He wasn't part of the Royal family, he couldn't be. That man being introduced as "His Royal Highness" at court functions, that couldn't be him. He was just an ordinary kid from Win-Kia who'd been pretty good at woodworking and somehow ended up a Tin Man. Sometimes the extravagantly unlikely twists and turns of his life that had led him to this point astonished him. Parents murdered through sheer bad luck had led him into careers and associations he'd never desired; all he'd wanted was a quiet life with his wife and son. Then, a little girl's fear had led to a reign of terror by an evil force that his conscience had driven him to resist, the greed of one of his fellow resistors had led to his discovery and imprisonment in a tin suit.

Or that was the official story, anyway.

Then one day the same little girl who'd unintentionally caused all this had come along and freed him, and somehow he had ended up married to her, and that quiet life he'd once dreamed of had been replaced with high-pressure security briefings, the pomposity of eight zillion court functions and people calling him Your Highness no matter how many times he told them to cut it out.

He had days when he just wanted to run. Chuck it all and run. Go back to a life that fit him, where there were bad guys to beat the crap out of when he was stressed out and his biggest decision of the day was likely to be which snitch to go squeeze for information. But he didn't, because somewhere along the way, it had started to matter. All this mattered, the role he played in this government mattered, the role he played in the family mattered. What he symbolized to the people of the O.Z., and to its enemies, mattered. Most of all, DG mattered. She mattered in ways that sometimes made him put a pillow over his head and count backwards from a hundred until it went away.

Still. It was moments like this when it was hard to hang onto his old ideas of himself, when he walked out into the drawing room, DG on his arm, and the entire assembly rose and bowed.

DG's chair (not the throne -- that was in another room -- this was an ordinary if ornate chair) was on a slightly raised dais. Azkadellia's chair sat next to it, and Ambrose usually sat on DG's other side. Cain had often been offered a chair for himself, but he was content to stand behind DG's shoulder, hands behind his back. It made him feel less like he was pretending to some right to rule here. That right was hers, not his.

She grasped his fingers delicately as she stepped onto the dais and sat down, legs crossed at the ankle, ladylike and in control. He took his customary spot, as always amazed that she could put on such an air of queenliness when it was so against her nature. He sometimes wished everyone here could see the DG that he knew. Curled under a quilt in her favorite reading chair with her hair tousled, or leaning into the hood of one of the royal limousines with grease on her face, tinkering with the transmission. Lying on her stomach on the carpet in their office with papers and official documents spread all around, knees bent and her feet swinging back and forth in the air. Grinning at him when he entered a room, teasing him, laughing at his frequent discomfiture.

Lying in bed, the moonlight pale across her fine skin, looking up at him and waiting for him to come to her.

_Stop it._

The pages were opening the doors to admit the first citizens scheduled for today's session, and he put on his usual expressionless face. It was Receiving time.

The doors to the drawing room were closed, and servants began to enter with wine and hors d'oeuvres. Everyone stayed seated until the Queen rose, then they all turned to each other and began the usual flood of gossip and small talk.

It had been an uneventful Receiving. The standard assortment of people asking for help, people wanting favors, people reporting problems, people bringing in high-achieving children to receive the Queen's congratulations. Cain paid attention with half his brain while the other half restlessly scanned the crowd of observers. He'd never stop thinking like a Tin Man, and Ambrose's admonishments about an heirless Queen's vulnerability to assassination rang constantly in his ears.

His eye was drawn to a young man in the third row. He was dressed in fine, expensive clothes, wearing regalia denoting him as a Knight of the Zone. Dark-haired and large-eyed, he was very striking, but what drew Cain's attention was that he kept _looking_ at the Queen. Everyone else was looking at her too, of course, but this man's gaze was more focused, as if he knew something about her that no one else did. It began to feel intrusive and creepy to Cain, who'd spent most of his life reading eyes. _Quit staring at her,_ he found himself thinking in the man's direction. _You look like a stalker. Back off._

Azkadellia pulled off her gloves, accepting a cup of tea from her lady-in-waiting. "Nice group today," she said.

DG nodded. "At least no one cussed me out for once." She turned to Cain and smiled at him. "What do you think, General?"

"I liked that guy who invented the automatic glove-presser. He was funny."

She laughed. "And so proud of his invention."

"Except, who irons their gloves?" Ambrose said, chuckling.

Cain shrugged. "Well, I can see how he'd think that if anyone did, it'd be someone in this palace."

DG put on a fake thoughtful face. "Come to think of it, why _aren't_ my gloves pressed? I demand to have my gloves pressed!"

"I'll look into it, Your Majesty," Ambrose said, smirking.

She looked out to the assembled guests. "Well, Az, let's mingle." She linked arms with her sister, and they left the dais and joined the crowd of court guests, soon lost amidst all the attention.

Cain made a beeline for Commissioner Dwyer, who was not only his former boss but a close friend. He was one of Cain's few links with his old life, pre-tin-suit. Dwyer had known Adora, and Jeb since he was a child. He was a semi-regular attendee at Receiving and Cain was always grateful to see him. "Your Highness," Dwyer said as he approached, bowing from the shoulders.

"Don't make me smack you around," Cain said. He accepted a cup of coffee from a page who appeared at his side. Cream, two sugars, just how he liked it. The service staff knew his beverage preferences. And all his other preferences, which he sometimes found a little unnerving.

"What, all your fancy titles getting too hard to pronounce?" Dwyer said, his eyes twinkling.

"I can have you put away for sedition or something, you know."

"Ha! I can always go to the papers with that story about the stakeout and the ginger beer and…"

"All right, all right," Cain said, chuckling. "I'm at your mercy."

"How are things, Cain?"

"Good, thanks."

"You seeing much of Jeb?" Dwyer had turned to face him, letting Cain know that this wasn't a casual conversational topic.

Each time he'd seen Dwyer since the wedding, Cain had waited for him to ask about Jeb, but he hadn't until now. "Not as much as I'd like. He's in charge of some of our scout squadrons down south. They've been making intelligence raids across the border, and he's got a few men posing as Longcoats on the inside."

"Dangerous work for a member of the Royal family."

"He isn't."

"If you are, he is, and you know it."

"He chooses not to be."

Dwyer hesitated. He'd been very fond of Jeb as a boy, when Cain had been a Tin Man, and Jeb had called him "Uncle Stewie." "It must be hard for him," Dwyer said. "Losing his mother, finding you, then seeing you remarry in this fashion."

Cain sighed. "You have something to say, go ahead. I can take it."

"I admit, I wondered if you thought about him when you agreed to all this."

"Of course I thought about him! I thought that in this position, I could make sure he was safe, that he was assigned somewhere he wouldn't be harmed." He sighed. "Didn't occur to me that he wouldn't let me do that, although it ought to have done."

"And he's all right that you've remarried?"

"He says he is. He's never been anything but friendly to DG. I mean, Her Majesty."

"Of course not. She's the Queen, you think he'd allow himself to be unkind to her?"

That gave him pause. "Jeb and I lost Adora," he said, quietly. "And nothing can bring her back. But…I had a duty to this kingdom, and to the princess. Jeb understands that."

"And that's why you agreed to the marriage? Your sense of duty?"

"Why else?"

Dwyer shrugged. "I'm just curious, Wyatt. I've known you since you were a greenhorn fresh from that cabinetmaker's shop in Win-Kia. You and Adora had such a loving home, I always admired that about you. Your commitment to your family. When I heard that you'd agreed to this…arranged marriage, I couldn't believe it."

Hearing his marriage to DG described as "arranged" made Cain bristle, although without cause…it was an accurate description, after all. But he couldn't really get angry at Dwyer's puzzlement over these developments when not minutes ago he'd been marveling at them himself. "The turns of the Old Road warn you not," he said, quoting an old Central City adage. He met his friend's eyes, and wanted him to understand. "I doubt I'll ever get over losing Adora," he said, quietly. "But that doesn't mean I could say no when the Princess needed my help, and asked me to do this for her, and for the O.Z."

"You care for her, don't you?"

"Of course. We've been close friends for years."

Dwyer smiled. "Well, that's as good a basis for marriage as any, I suppose."

Cain stared into his half-full coffee cup. "Adora wouldn't have thought so," he said. "She used to say that friendship gave you a foundation, but it was love that built the house, and you needed both to keep the cold away."

Dwyer nodded. "Then I guess it's good you've got this palace to keep the cold away now."

Cain was spared trying to respond to that by a page who appeared at his elbow. "General Cain, Her Majesty wishes me to ask if you will join her when it's convenient."

Cain nodded. "Thank you." He handed the page his coffee cup and turned to the Commissioner. "Well, duty calls. I imagine she wants me to meet someone."

"You hate this, don't you?"

"I don't mind the Receiving. But I can do without the schmoozing after," Cain said, under his breath. Dwyer laughed as Cain excused himself and made his way across the room to where DG stood…with _him._ The young man who'd been staring at her.

She smiled as he approached and slipped her arm through his. "Lord Umbrey, I'd like you to meet my husband, General Cain. Cain, this is Gerald, Lord Umbrey, the Earl of Lambia."

Umbrey snapped his feet together and bowed in an excessively formal way that hadn't been in fashion in this court for a long time. "Your Highness," he said.

Cain just extended a hand. "General, please."

"Of course," Umbrey said, shaking his hand with three precise pumps. "Pleasure to meet you, sir. I understand you're a former Tin Man," he said, smiling widely.

"You understand right," Cain said. His teeth wanted to clench.

"Lord Umbrey says they have really great horses in Lambia," DG said. "He says they're much faster and stronger than the ones we have in the home counties."

"Is that so," Cain said.

"Her Majesty has told me how much you enjoy riding," Umbrey said. How many teeth could fit in one mouth? Cain wondered. "I'd be honored to send you a pair of our finest horses, so you may judge me not a liar."

"Oh, that would be awesome!" DG exclaimed, forgetting her Queenly bearing in her excitement. _Why is she being so smiley?_ "I'm not as good on horseback as Cain but I really like it."

"I'm sure Your Majesty is just being modest," Umbrey said. "No doubt you have a natural seat, ma'am."

_What the hell did he just say?_ "Fine horses aren't all they have in Lambia, I hear," Cain said. "WinMotors just opened their third plant there, didn't they?"

"Yes, indeed," Umbrey said. "Lambians have a particular talent for machines, and we're fortunate that WinMotors has employed so many of our citizens." He turned to DG. "I understand Your Majesty has an interest in cars," he said.

DG grinned. "Not just cars," she said. "I kinda have a particular talent for machines myself."

"Me as well, ma'am. It's one of the reasons I encouraged auto manufacturing in my county. Tell me, what do you think of the new variable-speed transmission that OMW is putting in the R series these days?"

She shook her head. "It's a nice idea, but I'm hearing that the transmission doesn't have half the lifetime of the old automatics, and beyond that it's…"

Cain let their conversation wash over him as he was left behind in a sea of mechanic-speak. Knowing how to change the oil was the extent of his car smarts. Clearly she'd found a kindred mechanical spirit in Umbrey.

How nice.


	9. Chapter 9

To Cain's chagrin, DG got on so well with Lord Umbrey that she invited him to stay for dinner. Fridays were Big Dinner days, with anywhere from twenty to thirty nobles, officials and prominent citizens as guests, so it seemed natural to invite him. Or so she quickly explained upon seeing his expression when he learned that Umbrey was to stay.

_I don't care. Why should I care? He's a nice enough guy. Close to her own age. Shares some interests. Why shouldn't she make a friend?_

_A friend who has a lot more in common with her than_ _you_ _do._

_A friend who's been shamelessly chatting her up. And right in front of my face. Who the hell does he think he is?_

_He's just trying to be charming on his first meeting with the Queen._

_Charming is one thing. Flirting with a man's wife when he's standing right there is quite another._

"What's with you?" Azkadellia whispered to him, catching him in the hall outside the salon.

"Nothing's with me."

"You're tense. Tenser than usual."

He pressed his lips together, considering. "Did you meet that Umbrey guy from Lambia?"

"Oh, yes," she said, shooting him a knowing glance. "He's really pouring it on thick, isn't he?"

"Good," Cain said, exhaling. "I thought it was just me."

"DG seems to like him. She doesn't meet many people her own age these days, or that she can talk cars with."

Cain nodded. "So that's…good, then?"

Azkadellia shrugged. "Lambia is strategically important. The Royal House has a long history of alliances with it. There's been more than one marriage between our ancestors and the Lambian noblemen."

Cain didn't need it spelled out for him. If Umbrey had been the Earl a year ago, and DG had managed to meet him…she'd likely be wearing his ring instead of Cain's.

_Such a thing shouldn't bother you. You only married her for lack of a better alternative at the time._

_She is the Queen, you know. And she's a woman with needs. Physical needs. The ones she doesn't have a proper husband to take care of. It wouldn't be the first time the Queen took a lover. Hell, everybody probably expects it. No one thinks that people in a marriage of convenience are going to be faithful._

Azkadellia took his arm. "Come on. Let's drink some wine and forget our troubles."

Cain smiled. Sometimes he really liked Azkadellia.

His improved mood lasted until they entered the salon and there was DG, talking with the Earl of Insufferable. They were both smiling widely and laughing and DG was touching his arm now and again. He felt Azkadellia's hand squeeze his elbow. "Just being friendly," she muttered.

Dinner was the usual parade of culinary excesses. The chefs liked to show off for the Big Friday Dinners and Cain always ended the meal feeling like he'd have to be rolled out of the room. Tonight, however, his appetite wasn't up to its usual standards, since he spent the entire meal face to face with Lord Umbrey, who had been seated on DG's left.

There was another problem, as well. The guy was actually _interesting._ He shouldn't have been surprised; DG was too smart to be taken in by someone vacuous and phony. It would have been far easier to maintain his irritation had Umbrey been sycophantic or stupid or just plain evil, but he seemed smart, quick and as kind-hearted as one could expect landed gentry to be. And he was a good conversationalist, never lingering on himself too long, asking the right questions, drawing others into the discussion. The entire gathering was charmed by him.

_God, I must be suffering in comparison._

_Not everything is about you, Cain. So the guy's annoyingly perfect. Did HE save the Princess's life and help defeat the Witch?_

_No, but that doesn't mean everyone here isn't looking from him to you and thinking, what a shame. What a shame for our young, vibrant Queen to be saddled with the crusty, crotchety old General, who can't seem to get her pregnant. What a shame she couldn't have met the Earl a year ago, she might have been able to marry for love. What a shame._

"General," Umbrey said, jerking Cain out of this contemplation. "I'm curious. How did you come to serve the Royal Family? Had you been a Tin Man all that time?"

"I hadn't been a Tin Man for years before the Emerald War," Cain said.

Umbrey nodded, like he understood. "It's a difficult and taxing profession, I'm told."

Cain just stared at him. "I didn't retire, if that's what you're implying." Everyone at the table was now watching this exchange with a good deal of interest.

"If you didn't retire, what had you been doing?"

"I thought everyone knew."

"Knew what?"

Cain held the man's eyes. "I was in a tin suit for eight years."

Umbrey seemed astonished. "What on earth did you do to run afoul of the Longcoats and deserve such a long confinement?"

_Wrong move, Umbrey. First one I've seen you make._ Cain felt DG stiffen slightly. She reached over and took his hand where it rested on the tabletop. "Lord Umbrey, my husband was in the Resistance," she said, her tone a touch frostier than it had been. "He was betrayed by a man in his unit who was paid for the information."

"I see," Umbrey said. "We didn't have much activity with the Resistance in Lambia. There was no need, the Longcoats rarely ventured into our counties."

"No, your father made sure you were left alone," Cain said, leaving out all the ways the former Earl had accomplished this.

"How did you escape your imprisonment?"

Cain smiled at DG. "Her Majesty released me." She smiled back and squeezed his hand.

Umbrey's eyes flicked from Cain's face to hers and back again. "I didn't realize," he said. "I was under the impression that _you_ had saved and protected _her._ "

"She saved me first," Cain said, quietly.

A long moment of silence was broken by the arrival of dessert, and normal conversation resumed.

* * *

Lord Umbrey played the piano for the gathering after dinner, when they'd all adjourned to the salon. DG sat nearby, listening, wondering if this guy was too good to be true. It had been a long time since she'd met anyone at court who seemed genuine. Most people were groveling to the point of absurdity and didn't dare question her, or challenge her, or engage her in real conversation.

_Most people aren't that cute in Knight's regalia, either._

She shifted uneasily in her chair.

_Why shouldn't you think he's cute? He is cute._

_You shouldn't be looking._

_Why not? Remember what Azkadellia said…you can take as many lovers as you like._

That such an idea would even cross her mind was a little troubling, but she couldn't deny that it did.

_You're a married woman. It'd be…slutty._

_Why? Marriage of convenience, remember? And if you'd met Lord Umbrey sooner…_

_But you didn't. And it wouldn't do for the Queen to be bedding every good-looking nobleman who walks through the door._

_You're not talking about every nobleman, just about this one. And that isn't why you're hesitating and you know it. You don't want to hurt Cain._

_It wouldn't hurt him. He doesn't expect anything. And don't we all deserve a little passion in our lives? Those of us who aren't lucky enough to have it in our marriages could be forgiven for seeking it elsewhere, couldn't we? I wouldn't hold it against Cain if he met some attractive woman his own age and wanted to keep a discreet mistress._

_Oh, you wouldn't?_

DG looked around the room until her eyes found Cain, standing near the window with a brandy snifter in his hand, looking stalwart and resolute as always.

_He's just as handsome as Umbrey. And if some woman was all over him the way Umbrey's been all over you tonight, how would you feel? Especially if he was giving it right back, as you've been doing?_

She gritted her teeth. _I'd be upset. And I'd be embarrassed, and hurt._

_And jealous._

She jumped to her feet. Umbrey stopped playing mid-phrase and stood, as the entire assembly did. "Excuse me," she said. "I must retire. Please, stay and enjoy the Earl's music." Her eyes went to Cain's all by themselves. He shot her a questioning glance: _are you all right?_ She nodded. "Az?" she said, holding out her hand. Azkadellia came to her side and took her hand, giving her a puzzled look as they left the room.

Azkadellia didn't speak until they'd reached the residence. "What was that all about?" she said.

DG flopped down onto a nearby bench. "I don't know, I just…I started feeling guilty about being so attentive to Umbrey, and I'm sure everyone will be talking about it now."

"They'd talk about it if you had an extra scone at lunch. Not much escapes anyone's notice."

"I don't like being that girl, Az."

"Which girl?"

"The girl who flirts with other guys when she's…attached."

"We've talked about this before, DG."

"I know, but I just can't wrap my brain around it! So what if I'm not in love with Cain, he's my husband and he's my friend, my _best_ friend, and I'm so lucky to have him…he's been so much more than I ever expected through all of this. I'm sure he noticed the Earl slobbering all over me. And dammit, I was slobbering right back."

"Oh, he noticed. But he wouldn't say anything to you, even if he wanted to. You know how cautious he is that he doesn't make demands on you."

"Maybe he should! Everyone goes on about how our 'marriage of convenience' has these different rules but at the end of the day, I still get hung up on the fact that _we are married._ No matter how or why or under what circumstances, I _do_ feel like I owe him something. At the very least I ought to respect him enough not to flirt with some guy right under his nose."

"I don't know what to tell you, DG. I just want you to be happy, and secure."

DG nodded. "I'd like that, too. But what's going to give me that…I dunno, Az. It's getting complicated."

* * *

Cain stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked Central City, the stuffy air in the salon beginning to stifle. DG had abruptly left a short time ago; he'd considered going after her, but she'd had that "need some girl time" look about her, so he'd left it to Azkadellia.

He drained his brandy glass, glad at least that His Noble Perfectness had stopped favoring all of them with his musical prowess. What was next, a demonstration of sleight-of-hand? One-handed pushups? A recitation of all the OZian rulers in alphabetical order?

The glass doors behind him opened and he turned. Lord Umbrey was emerging, a cigar in his mouth. He shut the doors and joined Cain near the balcony. "Nice night," he said.

"Mmm."

Pause. "I hope Her Majesty is all right."

Cain glanced at him. "Her Majesty's well-being is none of your concern."

"Of course. Didn't mean to overstep my bounds."

"I'm sure you didn't."

Umbrey paused again. "The Queen is very charming."

Cain turned to face him. "Does that surprise you?"

"Yes. One reads about stuffy, boring royals raised in their ivory towers, no idea about the worlds they govern. She isn't like that, is she? She's so…down-to-ground."

"Knowing her for one evening doesn't make you an expert," Cain said, keeping his voice even.

"Then I'll hope to spend much more time in her company in the future with an eye towards becoming one," Umbrey said, his smile neutral but his eyes all business.

"Proceed at your own risk."

"I'll say good-night then, General. But I hope we'll be seeing much more of each other in the future."

"Yes. Won't that be nice." Umbrey stuck out his hand, which Cain had little choice but to shake. He plastered a fake smile on his face. "Stay away from my wife," he said in a low voice, keeping his face politely pleasant.

Umbrey didn't miss a beat, his own face keeping up its appearances. "I'd hoped you wouldn't find me threatening," he said, smoothly.

"I'm not _threatened._ "

Umbrey raised an eyebrow, releasing Cain's hand. "You just warned me off her in no uncertain terms."

"I trust her, but I don't think I trust _you._ "

Umbrey sighed. "I have no dishonorable intentions, General." He met Cain's stare without blinking. "I…I like her. More than I thought I would. I'm sorry if that upsets you."

Cain shriveled a bit inside. _Jesus, Cain. You're acting like he's plotting to throw DG over his shoulder and spirit her away to Lambia under your very nose. Why don't you just growl and bite the guy's neck while you're at it?_ "Everyone likes her."

"No, I mean…she's someone that I…" Umbrey ran a hand through his hair. "You've thrown me for quite a loop, General. I can't even articulate my thoughts, and that usually isn't a problem for me." He faced Cain again. "Look. Can I be frank, man to man?" Cain nodded curtly. "All right. She needed to be married before her coronation. You were the best candidate at the time."

He clenched over that for a moment, but had to agree. "Yes."

"Maybe it doesn't have to stay that way."

"Are you presenting yourself as an alternative?"

Umbrey smiled. "That'd be a little premature. I just met her. But, as I said…I like her. And I'd like to get to know her better, if she's amenable. I respect you, General, and your work. I think you're a great man, actually. But where the Queen's happiness is concerned…maybe you aren't the ideal person for the job."

Cain watched his face. He had to know if this man's motives ought to concern him. He lifted his hand and swept his first two fingers down his temple.

Umbrey didn't return the gesture, nor did he seem to notice it. "Good night, General." He held Cain's eyes for a moment, then turned and left the balcony. _Okay, then. That's one less worry._

Cain watched him go back inside, full of infallibility, glad-handing all the court denizens and society mavens. _This is his world in a way that it will never be mine._

_She could love him. He could love her._

_She could be happy._

He turned back towards the cityscape, wanting to feel angry and threatened and full of possessive rage, but could only manage to feel sad, and a little resigned.


	10. Chapter 10

_two nights later_

* * *

Cain lay next to DG, catching his breath. It was their sixth time trying for a baby. He'd been on board with this endeavor all along, but suddenly his heart just wasn't in it. He was still brooding internally about what the Earl of Lambia had said to him.

He heard quiet sniffling to his left and turned just in time to see DG turn her head away. Her shoulders shook a little, and he realized she was crying. "Hey," he said, reaching out to touch her arm. "Are you all right?"

She looked at him, swiping at her eyes. "Yes. I'm just…being stupid."

"I'm sure that's not true."

She shook her head. "This just gets harder and harder. Well, I mean…not _this,_ " she said, motioning between them. "I've gotten pretty used to it. Just the feeling it gives me, sometimes it's…" She sighed. "Sometimes I feel like I'm being bred like a prize Schnauzer."

Cain winced inside, remembering saying something very similar to Ambrose months ago. "I know what you mean."

"It's not you. Not your fault."

"This is ridiculous," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. "We don't have to do this like this. It's too strange to have sex when we're not romantically involved."

"How else would we…"

"Come on, DG. There are ways."

"No," she said, vehemently. "I want to do this the natural way if at all possible. We've talked about this."

"We wouldn't have to have these…encounters, if they're upsetting you."

"I didn't say they were _upsetting_ me, exactly."

"It's clearly making you feel bad! I never wanted that." She held his gaze for a moment, then suddenly rolled close and buried her head in his chest. Cain put his arms around her, surprised and a little discomfited by this unusually intimate embrace. He'd never held her like this when they were both…semi-unclothed. "DG, I…I've been thinking," he said.

"About what?"

"It's been my honor and pleasure to help you and support you, but…"

He felt her frown. "What the hell is that? We're in bed. This is not the Rotary Club."

He sighed, impatient, letting yet another of her incomprehensible references slide on by. "I still wish you could have the kind of marriage you deserve. The kind I had with Adora," he added, more quietly.

"I'm the Queen. We don't always get what we want."

"There wasn't time before you took the throne. But…there's still time. You could still have that."

She lifted her head and looked at him, a quizzical expression on her face. "What are you talking about?"

He looked away. "I know that you, uh…that you got on well with the Earl of Lambia."

"Well, yes, but…" Her eyes widened. "Oh," she breathed. "I see."

"DG, I just want you to be happy."

"Who says I'm not?"

He grasped her arms and looked into her eyes. "You deserve a husband you can share a bed with _every_ night, someone you can make love to and have children with!" he said. "Not someone you're just tolerating."

"I'm not _tolerating_ you. I don't regret marrying you."

"That doesn't mean you have to _stay_ married to me."

She gaped at him. "Are you leaving me?"

"I'm saying that I was…a last resort. Maybe I was just a stopgap measure. But if you've met someone you could be happy with, and love, you shouldn't let it get away. I'll…" His voice got caught up a bit in his throat. "I'll step aside. We can get an annulment, or whatever, and…"

"Cain, I barely _know_ Lord Umbrey! And now you want me to divorce you and _marry_ him?" she exclaimed, incredulous.

"This isn't about what I want!"

"What _do_ you want? We're forever talking about me, and what'll make me happy, and what's best for me, but what about you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me! Are we going to find some nice woman for you before we marry me off to Gerald Umbrey?"

"Maybe I just want to be alone!" he said, meeting her eyes.

"Alone with your memories?" DG said. "Alone to mourn what you've lost and disappear into work and shut your heart away in that little tin suit you've built for it? I'm sorry I've kept you from all that, Cain."

"Just because you got me out of that suit doesn't mean you have to keep trying to save me, DG," he said, tightly. "I can save myself now, thanks."

"You're doing a pretty piss-poor job of it," she said, pulling away.

"How did we get off track, here? I just wanted you to know that if you were to meet somebody, then…"

"Right now I feel like I'd rather be a spinster than be married to Gerald Umbrey _or_ you."

Cain sat up, drew on his pajama pants and got out of bed. "I only want what's best for you," he said.

She looked up at him. "It's not up to you to decide what that is."

He held her eyes for a long moment, then left the bedroom.

_God. You sure fucked that up, Cain._

* * *

_two weeks later_

* * *

Most mornings, Cain and DG took breakfast together in their shared sitting room. Frequently, this was their only chance for private conversation the entire day, and the whole palace knew not to interrupt them unless the world was coming to an end.

Ever since The Umbrey Incident, things had been a little…strained. Cain had been treading lightly, and he could tell that she had been, too. Nothing direct had been said, their quarrel had not been alluded to, but he couldn't help but feel that something had shifted between them.

To Cain's surprise, the Earl of Lambia had not visited again. He had overheard DG's social secretary suggest that he be invited to Receiving again, but DG had rejected the idea, quite emphatically. He didn't know whether to be pleased or dismayed by this.

Today, she was quite late emerging from her bedroom. Usually she came out as soon as she was up, around seven o'clock, and then retired to her room after she'd eaten to bathe and dress. He liked that. It was a reminder of the real DG to see her with bed-head, wearing flannel pants and a t-shirt; she laughed more easily, sat in awkward, unladylike poses and argued with him about which of the several dozen events they'd been invited to they ought to grace with their presence. In those morning moments he could almost pretend that they were just themselves again, as they'd been when they first met. That was the DG he knew and…that he knew.

It was almost eight now and there was no sign of her. Cain had eaten his breakfast, drunk two cups of coffee and read the entire morning journal while her eggs turned rubbery and her tea grew cold.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. He got up and went to her bedroom door. He knocked twice, then opened it a little. "DG?" No answer. He opened the door all the way and stepped inside. "DG, are you okay?"

The bed was empty, but slept-in. He didn't see her.

"DG, where are you? Are you in here?"

Then he heard it…a small, quiet shuffling, and a sniffle. Cain went to the bathroom door, which was standing wide open.

DG was sitting against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head thrown back against the marble tiles. She was crying quietly, undramatically, slow tears leaking from her eyes and her chest quivering. She looked up at him as he entered, and he knew immediately.

_No baby again this month._

She shook her head and her chin trembled a little. Cain didn't hesitate. He crossed the large bathroom and sat down next to her, reaching out to gather her up. He pulled her onto his lap and she came with a grateful sigh, linking her arms around his neck. She drew her knees up and he found that his arms could wrap all the way around her. She felt so small, in a way that she never did when she was standing straight and forthright. Then, she was the biggest person in the room.

He held her and felt her tears wetting his neck, her form trembling like a tree trunk in a strong wind.

"There's something wrong with me," she finally murmured.

"Nothing's wrong with you." He sighed. "If it's anybody it's me."

"Why?"

"I can't help wonder what it might have done to me being in that suit for eight years."

"The doctors said you were fine."

"Oh, what do they know?"

She sighed. "They sure don't know why I'm not pregnant." She burrowed a little closer. "I'm glad you're here."

He hesitated. "DG…"

"No, shush. I know things have been a little weird with us lately."

"A little."

"I'm sorry. About all of it. Although I'm still trying to get my head around the fact that you want me to marry Lord Umbrey."

"It's not that I _want_ …"

"I know, I know." She drew back a little and looked him in the face. "Cain, there may be tradeoffs, but…there's nobody who can give me what you do. My mother told me once that my job as Queen was to make sure my subjects always feel protected, and safe, and that I'm always here for them, keeping an eye on things." She smiled. "Well, if I have to do that for everybody else, than you're the one doing it for me. I can stretch and I can push myself and go out on a limb and put myself out there for the rest of the O.Z. only because I know you're here. You're my rock, Wyatt. You're what I lean against when it's all just too heavy."

Cain felt his heart swell a little at that. "Well, I'm…glad."

"I just worry sometimes that I'm not doing that for you in return."

"Don't worry. You do enough."


	11. Chapter 11

DG was having a rough day. She had cramps from hell, and Azkadellia had taken to her bed with crippling vertigo, a recurring ailment the physicians couldn't seem to cure. Coming out of her sister's bedroom, she'd tripped on a wet patch in the hall and fell headlong into a side table, bruising the hell out of her forearm, and as if that wasn't enough, there was an ever-growing army of disgruntled expatriates massing in Flornistan to invade her country. On top of the constant undercurrent of domestic disgruntlement from citizens who still didn't trust her, it just made for a damn stressful morning. What made it worse was that Cain wasn't around for her to vent to. He was at the Forum of Government meeting with the council. She didn't even really need his advice or his help…what she really needed was for him to hold her and tell her it'd all work out in the end. He was the only one who could say things like that and make her believe it.

She paced in their office like a caged animal, reading security briefings and intelligence reports and threat analyses with growing concern. The scout squads along the border had placed men inside the Longcoat army, but one of them had been discovered and now the entire operation was in jeopardy. Longcoats had been venturing back across the O.Z. border to hunt for scouts, and the other inside agents were in grave danger but could not be extracted for fear of giving away the entire plan.

She was just about to ring for some coffee when the door to the office abruptly banged open and Ambrose came running in. Adrenaline flooded her body; it must be very urgent indeed for him to just burst in without knocking. "Ambrose?" she said.

He handed her a report. "You need to see this."

She skimmed the report…scout squadron taken captive by Longcoats…suspected Longcoat base near the Flornish border…likely targeted for information-gathering…

She saw what Ambrose needed her to see. She fumbled behind her for a chair and sank into it. "Oh, no." She met Ambrose's eyes. "Dillon!" she barked.

The guard outside the door came in. "Your Majesty?"

"Dispatch a car to the Forum of Government immediately. Bring General Cain back to the palace as quickly as you can. Just tell him I need to see him right away."

Dillon saluted. "As you wish, ma'am."

* * *

She was back to pacing. Pacing, pacing. Ambrose had been sent back to his office; she'd talk to Cain alone.

Dear God, what could she say? _I'm terribly sorry, but your son's been taken captive by ruthless enemies._

_It's all my fault._

Technically, this was true. Since all the soldiers in the O.Z. followed orders that ultimately came from her, any harm that befell any of them was, in the final analysis, her fault. She had found this hard to deal with at the beginning of her reign, but Cain had repeatedly told her that soldiers served of their own free will, were aware of the risks, and knew that her orders might endanger them. Therefore she couldn't be held morally responsible for their injuries or deaths.

She found this argument less and less convincing the greater the numbers of casualties, and not remotely convincing now that it involved her husband's only child.

_Oh God, Wyatt. Please don't blame me. I couldn't take it. I can't lose you._ That last thought made her straighten up. _I can't. I really can't._ She remembered that awful fight they'd had when for one terrible minute she'd been sure Cain was going to leave her so she could marry Gerald Umbrey, as if that'd ever happen, and the bottom had fallen out of her stomach at the very idea of not being married to Cain anymore. When had that happened? She felt ill at the thought of him ever turning away from her. _Jesus, DG. You can't be thinking like this._

_Why not? Why is it so awful to think that I might…I might really…_

_No, don't SAY it._

_Why are you so scared of it?_

She heard the footsteps coming, and was able to pull herself together. Cain came in, looking harried and concerned. "DG? What's wrong? Why'd you…"

"Wyatt, I've got some news. I need you to come sit down."

His eyes went wide. "Is it Jeb?"

She took a breath and grasped his hand tightly. "He's been captured. His whole squad."

Cain saw the report she was holding and snatched it out of her hand, taking up the pacing she'd just left off as he read it. He met her eyes. "There's only one reason to capture _all_ of them. Prisoners are too much trouble unless you want something from them."

She nodded. "I know."

"They're torturing them. Right now, they're torturing my son!"

"We don't know that."

He ran a hand over his hair, damp and bedraggled from the rain. "I have to go out there," he said.

"Cain, no," DG said. This was the thing that was so scary she hadn't even let herself think it. "We're formulating a plan, and…"

"A plan? A _plan?_ I've got a plan right now…I'll take the best squadron of special ops in the home counties and go out there and _find_ him."

"You can't go out there, you're too close to it. It's dangerous and you'd never allow it if you were me."

"I have to do this, DG."

She grabbed him by the arm and turned him to face her, holding him there by both elbows. "Cain, listen to me! You can't do this yourself! You're too visible, too recognizable! And I _need_ you here! Do you know what a tempting target you'd make if you were spotted? Please, let our men handle this. You know they can."

His eyes were so blue, they were like lasers boring straight through her. "Did you sit back and let other people save Azkadellia because it was too dangerous?"

"That was different."

"I don't think so." He took hold of her forearms. "DG, don't try and stop me from going after my son. He's…all I have left." DG couldn't stop the hurt look that flew across her face, nor Cain from noticing it. "I mean, all I have from before. From my old life."

"Wyatt…if I ask you, as your wife, not to do this, will you stay?"

He let go of her and looked away. "I…I can't, DG. He's my son."

She felt tears rising to her eyes. "Then I'm coming with you."

That got his attention. "No. I absolutely forbid it."

"Excuse me?" she said, incredulous.

"DG, you can't be serious. The Queen can't go off on some mission into the wild to hunt for missing soldiers!"

"Maybe not, but _I_ can go off with my husband, who needs my help!"

"You say I'm too recognizable, but what about you? Honestly, DG, you'd be more of a hindrance, being who you are."

He was right, that was the infuriating thing. She crossed her arms over her stomach. "You might be killed out there," she whispered.

"I'll be careful. I've made it this long, through some pretty hairy stuff."

"Isn't there any way you'll reconsider?"

He met her eyes. "The only way I'm staying is if my Queen orders me to."

DG swiped at her wet cheeks. "You know I can't do that to you." But it was tempting. The thought of him going off on this mission filled her with profound dread. The thought of him never coming back made her want to order him to stay, even if he never forgave her and things were never the same between them ever again. At least he'd be alive.

"Then I'm sorry," he said. "But I have to do this."

She nodded. "When will you leave?"

"Right away. Within the hour." He checked his watch. "In fact, I ought to go make the preparations." He let his eyes linger on hers for a long moment. "DG, I'm sorry." He looked like he had something else to say, but then he thought better of it and left the room in a big hurry.

DG stood there in the empty office, her heart hammering inside her chest, but she managed to get the door shut before she broke down in sobs. _Oh God, no. Please, don't take him away from me. Not now, not with so much we haven't said to each other._

* * *

Cain had wanted to leave within the hour, but it took almost four to make the necessary arrangements. Cain chose two of his best officers from the central office, Captain Danny Armagnac and Lieutenant Damien McWhorter, to come with him. A quick-and-dirty mission outline was written and approved by Central Command and the 4th Division Special Operations Infiltration Unit was dispatched to rendezvous with them south of the city.

DG sat behind her desk in their office while the preparations were being made. Papers were brought to her for her approval and she signed them. Orders were requested to facilitate the mission and she gave them. She silently allowed the mission to proceed, trying to keep her mind blank and staying somewhat sequestered, not wanting to see Cain packing a bag or changing his clothes. She only emerged when her lady-in-waiting informed her that General Cain's party was ready to depart from the southeast portico.

When she arrived, Cain was stowing his gear in the back of the standard-issue military all-terrain truck they'd drive south. It bore no royal crests and was without royal amenities, but that was the point. He was wearing standard military field fatigues so as not to stand out, but it was definitely his own gun in the hip holster. The heavens would fall before Wyatt Cain switched to semi-automatic. He returned to the door for his last duffel, handing the bag off to Damien. He paused to shake hands with Raw, and then Ambrose, and then Ahamo. He embraced Azkadellia and let her kiss his cheek.

He approached her cautiously, eyes averted. She was standing on the other side of the drive from the rest of the family, hugging herself, no idea what she ought to say or do at this moment.

"I'll, uh…try to send dispatches back. Let you know how it's going."

She nodded. "All right." She chanced a quick glance up at him. He was putting on a brave face, but she wasn't fooled. He was anxious to find Jeb, but he wasn't happy about leaving her. DG was way beyond unhappy. An insistent voice of anxiety rang in her head, _don't let him go, don't let him go, don't let him out of your sight._ She was telling herself she was being silly. He'd be fine. He'd be home soon. But the dread in her belly wasn't listening.

"Now, no private dinners with Lord Umbrey while I'm gone," he said.

DG smiled, but it was a weak attempt. "I promise." Her whole body was flinching. She couldn't seem to stand still.

Cain took a step closer and plucked her hands away from her body, holding them in both of his own. "I'll be home before you know it," he said, quietly.

She looked up again, and this time she found his eyes looking back into her own, and then she couldn't look away. "Please, promise me you'll be careful," she said.

He nodded. "I will."

She squeezed his hands, her voice giving out. "Just come back to me, okay?"

"I will," he said, barely more than a whisper. His eyes flicked quickly to her mouth, then back to her eyes. DG sensed it before it happened, and tried to mentally brace herself.

_Whoa. This could be our first…_

Before she'd gotten the thought through her mind, he was leaning in, pulling on her hands; she stretched her neck up to meet him, and her lips met Cain's for the first time.

It was a soft, chaste kiss. A quiet press of lips, cautious and polite. It was nothing like what was going on inside DG's heart, where there were volcanoes and tectonic shifts and steam-powered geysers reshaping the landscape she'd thought she'd known.

Cain pulled away, squeezed her hands again, then released her and turned his back. He started down the drive to where the truck waited for him.

He didn't make it.

Halfway there he slowed, then stopped. For a few long seconds he just stood there, head down, like he'd forgotten something.

Then he turned and she saw it in his face. Her heart lurched sideways as he strode back up the drive, his steps purposeful and determined, as if he'd decided something and wanted to get it done without further ado.

DG could only stand and watch him come, frozen in place like a statue, her paralysis lifting just in time for her to reach out to him as he grabbed her up in his arms, a messy and unplanned clutch. DG's gasp was lost in his mouth as he sealed it over hers, his arms around her back, her own twining around his shoulders as he kissed her, nothing chaste or polite about this one; his hand was in her hair and she was melting, losing her solidity in his arms, kissing him back with her hands grabbing at him, pulling him closer still.

Some part of her brain still aware of the world saw her family glancing at each other, and she knew that later she'd resent their intrusion on this moment that should have been private between herself and her husband, who was now kissing her as a husband should, the way she'd always imagined being kissed, the way she'd been waiting to be kissed by him, that desire lurking in her deepest interiors where things struggled to see the light of day and often festered, unseen and unknown. A kiss not of duty or friendship but of desire and passion, the things she'd thought she was giving up when she married him that were now pouring through her as she molded herself to his body, her mouth opening beneath his with a quiet groan in the back of her throat. _Cain…how did we not see this? How did we stand there while this rushed past us, speeding up until we couldn't brace against the current anymore?_ She was on tiptoe now, her mouth fused to his, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside him, rocking against him as they swayed together like reeds in a windstorm, heads tilting and rolling underneath this desperate kiss that was almost painful, an act of contrition for the false barriers it had breached to escape.

She could have stood there all day, exploring all the ways she could kiss him, but the clock was ticking and he had a mission, a mission she resented even more now. His hands were grasping great fistfuls of her clothing as if he could pull her along like a kite; he broke off the kiss and hugged her, her feet leaving the ground. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hung on for dear life, not wanting to let him go out there where he might be killed, and she'd never know what this meant, or what had changed, or if they'd really stumbled upon what they'd both thought they were sacrificing. She just wanted to cling to him, this man who she'd married out of necessity, who she wasn't supposed to love but who had somehow become her whole world without her noticing it until now, when he was leaving her side and the parting felt like losing a limb.

He put her down and gently disengaged, lifting her hands from his shoulders where they wanted to grip and hold, kissing each palm and then her forehead, a long press of his lips there and she felt him breathe her in before he released her and turned away, walking quickly now without looking back, his shoulders slumped. Her hands hung in the air for a moment before she let them fall to her sides.

Az materialized next to her. "DG, my God," she whispered. "Are you all right?"

DG said nothing. She just watched as Cain got in the truck, his hat pulled low over his eyes, and the lieutenant behind the wheel started the engine.

_You said he'd never break my heart, Az. I said he'd never have it to break. You were wrong. We both were._


	12. Chapter 12

Everyone was leaving her alone. With each minute, DG alternated between wishing someone would come and talk to her, and being glad they were staying away.

She'd walked calmly into the palace after Cain's truck was gone, her family watching her in rapt surprise. She hadn't spoken to anyone, just taken the lift to her residential floor and gone to her room. Now she was in her favorite spot, her window seat, looking out the window at the view of the towers of Central City, floating among them as she was in one of the highest floors of the Spire. The sun had set and a brackish rainfall was slicking the buildings and spattering against her window. It suited her mood.

She sensed Azkadellia outside the door before she knocked. _It's okay, Az. Come on in,_ she thought at her.

The bedroom door opened and she heard her sister's light footsteps cross the room, then she was clambering up into the window seat, putting her back to the wall opposite DG and drawing up her knees, mimicing DG's posture. She didn't ask any question, she didn't say anything, she just sat there.

A half hour must have gone by before DG finally spoke. "On the other side," she said, "they have these optical illusion puzzle pictures. They don't look like anything at first. Just a big mess of dots and splotches of all different colors. You can stare at them for hours and never see the picture. It's right there. You just can't see it if you look directly at it, or if you think too hard about trying to see it."

Az was watching her face. "How do you see the picture, then?"

"The trick is _not_ to look at it. You have to kind of look _through_ it, and not think about it, and let your eyes go lazy and unfocused. You have to relax and let go of what you think you're supposed to be seeing. Then all of a sudden, it pops out and there's a horse, or a boat, or whatever. Then you can't _not_ see it."

Azkadellia nodded.

DG watched the rain trace meandering rivulets on the outside of her window.

"I'm in love with my husband, Az."

Az reached across and took DG's hand. "I know."

"When did that happen?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"What do you think I've been sitting here trying to figure out?"

"Come to any conclusions?"

DG let her chin rest on her knees. "Only that there isn't a much worse time to realize this than when he's going off on some insanely dangerous mission and he might…" She trailed off. She stared at her dim reflection in the window glass. She couldn't look at Az right now. The sight of her understanding face would push her right over the edge.

"I don't know what to do," she finally whispered.

She saw Az turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye. "Do your job. Go about your business. Run the kingdom. And wait."

"What am I waiting for?"

"For him to come back, so you can tell him, and so he can tell you."

* * *

Cain sat in the back seat of the truck and didn't say much during their trip south. Danny was driving, but he and Damien got into arguments every half hour or so about how he was doing it, and how much better Damien would be doing.

"You gotta hit every damn pothole?"

"They're kinda hard to miss."

"I think you're swerving to hit them on purpose. You know I strained my back last week."

"Oh yeah? How'd you do that?"

"Screwing your sister, asshole."

"Boys," Cain grumbled. "Do I have to separate you two?"

"Sorry, Cain," Danny said, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. Danny and Damien had been on Cain's staff for a very long time, well before he'd merited that dreaded Your Highness title, and when they were away from the palace they didn't stand much on ceremony.

He slumped down in his seat and let his eyes close. They'd rendezvous with the Army Infiltration unit and likely make camp for the night before heading to the border the next day. Anyway, he had plenty to think about.

Much as he tried to refocus on the mission at hand, and think of Jeb, his mind was spinning with thoughts of DG. He was still dumbstruck at himself that he'd done what he'd done. It hadn't been planned. Just…inescapable. Walking away from her after that polite kiss, he'd felt like he was trying to walk during an earthquake, as the ground shifted beneath his feet. He couldn't maintain his straight course, he had to weave and duck with the heaving earth and follow where it led him. A thousand images and thoughts of her had flashed through his mind, tumbling over and over each other and overlaid with the single truism that he might not return from this mission, and he'd never see her again. Every excuse he'd ever made, every feeling he'd ever rationalized away, ever impulse he'd ever quashed and every stray thought he'd written off as meaningless was revisited upon him tenfold, and the only thing to come from it was the absolute imperative that he couldn't just leave it like that.

So he'd gone back and done what he'd absolutely never thought of doing before, what he'd never even considered, what he'd certainly never dreamt of alone in his bed at night, and when he'd taken her into his arms she'd felt just as he had never, ever imagined.

She had responded to him so readily, too. Far from being repulsed or shocked, as he'd feared, it was as if she'd just been waiting for him to make the first move. She had clutched at him and kissed him back like she'd rehearsed it in her mind a thousand times. If he let his mind drift he could almost still feel her there, in his arms.

_Oh, DG. We are so stupid._

* * *

Nightfall found them in tents set up by the very efficient soldiers in the infiltration unit, who'd met up with them right on schedule. The lieutenant in charge had come up to Cain, saluted, and informed him that his men had scouted the area, declared it safe, located a suitable clearing, and set up a temporary overnight camp.

To that, Cain could do little more than say "Good work, Lieutenant" and be led to their camp. They'd designated one tent for his sole use. He'd objected that he could surely share with Danny and Damien, it wouldn't be the first time, and if he took a tent for his own then the soldiers would be crowded.

The Lieutenant had seemed surprised that this was a consideration to Cain, but had agreed, so Cain moved his bag and some grateful-looking soldiers had relocated into the tent he'd abandoned.

Now he was sitting near the fire on a collapsible camp chair between Danny and Damien. The soldiers were much occupied with various tasks involving weapons, and cleaning things, and repacking things. These men were highly trained, much more than Cain himself had ever been. He would have liked to talk to them, but they all seemed to be avoiding him like the plague.

"Why won't any of them talk to me?" he said to Damien, under his breath.

Damien shot him a look that clearly said _are you kidding?_ "You're the Consort, Cain. They're a little…you know."

"Why is it always about that? I'm no different than they are."

"Uh, the fact that you're married to the Queen kinda means that you are."

"You guys don't treat me any differently."

"That's because we knew you when you were just a pain in the ass and not a _royal_ pain in the ass," Danny said, grinning through a mouthful of biscuit, pleased at his own joke.

Cain stared at the flames, unable to muster up any further feelings or opinions on this subject. _I wonder what she's doing right now._

After a few moments of silence, he became aware that Danny was staring at him. "Something I can help you with?"

"You're thinking about the Queen, aren't you?"

"What makes you think so?"

"Eh. You got that look. And, uh…" He hesitated. "That was some goodbye kiss you gave her."

Cain flushed. "Saw that, did you?"

"Kinda hard not to."

He didn't respond. Danny's words had made _him_ remember that kiss, and just when he'd almost gotten it out of his head.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Danny said. He was speaking quietly now, so that they wouldn't be overheard.

"Shoot."

"I thought that you married the Queen as…well…" He fidgeted. "For political reasons, let's say."

Cain sighed. "You're not wrong."

"Oh. Okay." Danny was frowning.

"What's the problem?"

"I just didn't realize that you loved her, is all." Danny met his eyes, and Cain saw sympathy there.

He turned back toward the fire. "Neither did I, Danny. Not until today."

* * *

She'd only been in bed for an hour or so before it was clear that sleep was not going to be an easy achievement. Her mind was twirling in restless circles of worry and confusion and fear and frustration. She tossed restlessly, got up and paced, sat in her window seat, to no avail.

Finally, she walked out of her bedroom and crossed the sitting room to his bedroom doors. She hesitated; she'd actually never been in his room. He'd always come to her.

She opened the door and slipped inside. It was virtually the same room as hers, just flipped the other way. He had more tables and chairs and workspaces than she did, and the colors were different, more masculine. She wandered into his bathroom, squashing the fear that she was snooping. She'd imagined finding his razor or his toothbrush, but of course he'd taken those things with him.

The bed was neatly made, and everything was spotless and tidy. The maids had been in during the day and he wasn't here to mess it up again.

DG went to the bed and drew down the covers. She slid between them and buried her head in his pillow. It didn't smell like him. The linens were changed daily, a practice she'd never had occasion to find fault with until now. She hugged the pillow to her stomach anyway and curled up in his bed, hoping she'd be able to sleep but fearing the dreams that might chase her there.

* * *

DG jerked awake, the shreds of a frightening nightmare falling from around her. She looked around, disoriented. _The sun's on the wrong side of the bed. Oh…I'm in Cain's room._

She sat up and looked around, both arms still wrapped around his pillow. The sun was also higher in the sky than it would normally have been. She'd overslept. She rubbed her eyes and got up, glancing back at the rumpled sheets. _More gossip for the chambermaids._

Breakfast was waiting for her in the sitting room. Breakfast for one. She went around the table to her own chair, glancing at the empty place opposite, and poured a glass of orange juice.

She was still sitting there, the full glass of juice in front of her, when Azkadellia entered a few minutes later. She didn't look happy. "You need to see this," she said, without preamble, and dropped a copy of the Central City _Register_ in front of DG. It wasn't the most reputable of newspapers, prone to gossip and outright fabrication, but it was very popular.

The picture _screamed_ at her; hell, it practically leapt up and slapped her across the face. It took up the entire front page. The editor had clearly wanted to show off his exclusive.

It was herself and Cain in the portico, kissing. Not just kissing. Locked in a passionate clinch that made DG blush to look at it and she'd _been_ there.

_God, is that what we looked like? It's like "Gone With the Wind."_ He had one arm around her waist and the other hand in her hair. Her upper body was bent slightly backwards, her head tilted at what she had to admit was a flattering angle, one hand on his jaw and the other arm around his shoulders. The kiss itself was…intense, and embarrassing. She wasn't embarrassed to have kissed her husband like this, but it wasn't supposed to be public knowledge, and it was a graphic cold-water dousing of reality over the rose-colored recollection of their parting. It was one thing for DG to remember having her tongue in his mouth but it was quite another to see it splashed across the front page of the local bin-liner. It was a pretty clear shot. It hadn't been taken from any great distance. "Jesus," she said, her brain struggling to catch up.

The headline said "Royal Goodbye." She felt her blood pressure rising as she scanned the brief article.

"'Common perception that the royal marriage is a political arrangement was contradicted by this dramatic photograph taken in the Spire yesterday,'" she read aloud while Azkadellia sat down in Cain's chair, "'General Cain, departing for an undisclosed military engagement, shared a heartfelt goodbye kiss with the Queen. Sources speculate that romance has bloomed between the Queen and her Consort, a theory bolstered by this image of an emotional parting yesterday morning.'" Her voice rose steadily as she read. "Undisclosed military engagement?" she repeated.

"They must have been drawing conclusions from his clothes, and you can just see the truck in the background."

"Who the _fuck_ took this?" DG demanded.

"I don't know. Ambrose is looking into it."

She jumped up and paced back and forth, fury blocking her rational centers. "And what editor printed that? God! Aren't there laws against giving away military secrets?"

"Yes, and the Register would be liable under those laws, if they'd actually given anything away. They just said it was an 'undisclosed military engagement.'"

"Undisclosed, sure! What, they think the Longcoats don't get the paper? And it'll only take them about half a second to deduce that Cain's coming after Jeb! The paper might as well have sent them a telegram telling them to fortify their positions and set up ambushes along all the routes south!" DG picked up the paper again, shaking her head. "I can't believe this."

The door opened after a perfunctory knock and Ambrose came in. "Oh…you've seen it."

DG shook the paper in his face. "I want to know who took this picture, Glitch. Now."

"I'm not sure that ought to be our priority right now, DG. You see, we…"

"Ambrose!" DG snapped, holding up a finger. She saw him recoil slightly; she wasn't in the habit of barking out orders, nor was he accustomed to being on the receiving end.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he said, quietly.

"And we have to find a way to get a message to Cain. Let him know that the Longcoats likely know he's coming."

"Maybe he'll abort the mission," Azkadellia said.

DG snorted. "If you think so, you don't know him very well. Can we get him a message?"

"They've gone radio silent for their approach. We could send a messenger but they'd be looking for that. He'll be sending back stealth hounds with dispatches for us, we could use one of them to take a message back, but we don't know when they'll arrive…it might be too late."

"Don't we have our own stealth hounds here?"

"Yes, of course, but they won't know where to go. A hound that Cain sends here will be able to return to him."

"I'm counting on you to find a way, Ambrose."

He nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty." He bowed slightly and left.

DG sat back down, trying to ignore Azkadellia's raised eyebrow. "What?" she finally said.

"You were a little…imperious with him, weren't you?"

"I'll apologize later. Right now, I don't give a shit." She stared at the picture.

"That was quite a kiss, DG," Az said.

DG sighed. "Glad you liked it. It was our first."

* * *

"What's her name?" DG asked, her voice tight. She stared in at the young woman through the one-way glass, trying to control her temper.

"Mary Alice ," Miryam murmured. Miryam was head of Spire internal security. She was Amazonian and tough but baked the best sugar cookies in the universe. DG was perpetually in awe of her, a fact she tried to hide. It wasn't Queenly to go about awestruck by your staff.

By analyzing the photograph and comparing the sight-lines, Ambrose had determined that the photo of her and Cain had been taken from a window in the east wing servant's passageway, used by chambermaids and footmen, mostly. Miryam had narrowed the list of people who might have been in that passageway at the time Cain was leaving to four, and it had taken her only a few minutes and several well-phrased questions to determine who had taken the photo. "Who is she?" DG asked.

"She's just a chambermaid, Your Majesty."

"She isn't some kind of Longcoat infiltrator?"

"If she is, she's the stupidest Longcoat I've ever met. She didn't even bother to conceal the money the paper paid her for the photo." Miryam sighed. "I don't think she meant any harm, ma'am."

"I'd like to speak to her."

"As you wish."

DG left the observation room and went around the corner into the small interrogation room Miryam kept in the security offices. The guards nearby all stared at her, but she paid them no mind. She just opened the door and went in.

The young woman, Mary Alice, jumped as if she'd seen a ghost, then leapt to her feet. "Oh…Y-Y-Your Majesty!" she exclaimed, dropping a clumsy curtsey.

DG looked at her, drawing herself up to her full height, pulling her most intimidating regal bearing around her. "Sit," she said.

Mary Alice sat. "I didn't…didn't think you'd…"

"What? Didn't think I'd respond?"

The young woman was clearly terrified. She was wringing her hands and her eyes were misting over with tears. "I'm s-s-sorry, ma'am," she wailed. "I didn't mean no intrusion, I swear!"

"Intrusion?"

"I was j-j-just walking in the passage and happened t'look out the window and seen you and the General, and…"

"And you just happened to have a camera?"

Mary Alice sniffed. "I carry it round with me cause I train the new maids, ma'am. When they miss something or make a mistake I take a picture so's I can show 'em, and they can't fool me by goin back later and sayin it was done proper the first time."

DG had to admit that was believable. And a pretty good idea. "All right, so you had a camera."

She nodded miserably. "Didn't think much bout it, just snapped off a few. Was just so…" She glanced at DG, flushing. "Was real emotional, ma'am. Got a lump in my throat lookin at you, saying goodbye to the General." She wiped her eyes with a damp handkerchief. "But then I told my friend, and she said the paper'd likely pay me a fair bit for the photo, and I sure can use the money, ma'am. I'm sorry! Was a terrible invasion a your privacy, I know that now…"

DG sat down opposite her. "Mary Alice , right now I don't care about the privacy so much."

Mary Alice looked at her with wide, confused eyes. "Y…you don't?"

"Do you understand what you've done? General Cain left on a secret mission. The paper's published a photo of him leaving. Now his enemies will know he's coming."

Confusion gave way to abject horror on Mary Alice's face. The expression was so genuine that DG couldn't help but be moved by it. Her anger began bleeding away, much as she wanted to hang onto it. "Oh…oh no, ma'am! I didn't have no idea it'd be like that!"

"Clearly not."

The girl sobbed into her handkerchief. "I'm so sorry, ma'am!" she repeated.

"It's too late for apologies, Mary Alice . You may not have known what you were doing, but it's done just the same. If anything happens to General Cain, or the men with him, it will be on your head."

DG watched the girl cry, doing her best to stay unmoved.

_You're being cruel, DG. That isn't like you._

_I don't care. If Wyatt dies because of this stupid girl's thoughtless action…I'll be a good deal more than cruel. Miryam may have to hold me back from tearing her limb from limb with my bare hands._

_Don't let your emotions get the best of you. Mother always said that. Ambrose says it, too. So does Cain. Come to think of it, everybody says that. Better listen._

She sighed. "Don't take on so, Mary Alice . You may not have known what that photo would do, but the newspaper certainly should have. They're just as much at fault here, perhaps more."

Mary Alice looked up at her through puffy eyes. "Y-y-you aren't going to fire me, then?"

"Oh no, you're definitely fired."

The girl sighed, resigned, and stared at her handkerchief. "I sure wouldn't want nothing bad to happen to the General, ma'am. He's a real nice man."

DG frowned. "I wasn't aware you were acquainted."

"Oh, I'm not acquainted. But he's always real civil and fair to all the staff. Everyone says so. You know Lily, the chambermaid assigned to his room? Well, last year sometime her little boy got real sick. Lily's husband's a terrible layabout, don't bring in no money, and Lily didn't have enough for her boy to have an operation. The General, when he found out, he had the boy brought here to the palace so the royal doctors could fix him up."

DG smiled. She had no idea Cain had done such a thing. "He did?"

Mary Alice nodded. "And when one of the footmen's wives got laid off from the engineworks, the General got her a job here, in the laundry. He's real kind, ma'am."

DG nodded, her eyes faraway. "General Cain's had a lot of sadness in his life," she said, half to herself. "I guess he wants to spare other people having it in theirs." She jerked herself a little. "I believe you wouldn't want to hurt him, Mary Alice . But that doesn't change the facts."

"I know, ma'am. I ought to've known better." Tears were still trickling down her cheeks. "I can't tell you how sorry I am." She glanced up at DG's face. "I guess…you feel real strong on him, huh?"

It was a rather impertinent question to ask one's Queen, but DG didn't much care about propriety at this moment. "Yes, I do," she whispered.

There was a knock at the door, and Miryam poked her head in. "Your Majesty, word's come down from upstairs. A dispatch has come from the General."

DG jumped up and left the room without so much as a glance back at Mary Alice . Miryam followed her down the hall. "What do you want me to do with her?"

"Escort her out of the Spire, and make sure you confiscate any photos she took of us."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Ambrose barely got a word out before DG snatched the dispatch out of his hands. "What does it say?"

"I don't know, I haven't opened it," he said, pointing to the seal. "It's eyes only. You have to open it."

DG cracked the wax seal and unfolded the letter, her eyes jumping ahead; she had to force herself to read it word by word.

_DGR_

_Trip uneventful. Rendezvous ok. Set out for southern border early a.m. First task is to locate intel on location of LC base. Situation normal._

_WC_

DG was a little disappointed. That was all? She read it again, then turned it over, whereupon she saw a very small line of writing at the bottom.

_i can't stop thinking about you._

She smiled, then turned her attention back to the problem at hand. "How did this arrive?"

"Stealth hound, like we thought."

She went to her desk and grabbed a piece of paper. "Get the dog ready to return."

_WC,_

_Be advised mission compromised. Register published news of departure, likely that LC aware of your approach. Use extreme caution; may be necessary to abort._

_DGR_

She thought for a moment, then flipped the paper and wrote a more personal message, as he'd done for her, her fingers cramping as she tried to form the letters as small as possible.

_i slept in your bed last night, wishing you were there with me._

She stared at what she'd written, wondering if it was too much, too soon.

_To hell with too much. Screw too soon. I'm all in._

* * *

Cain bandaged Damien's arm, the young man wincing as he tied it tight. "You okay?"

"I'll live."

"Goddammit," Cain hissed, peering out at the road, which was littered with bodies. Most of them were Longcoats, but a few were their own men. "They can't be patrolling this far north of the Flornish border to set up an ambush."

Damien nodded. "They knew we were coming."

"How?"

"Does it matter?"

Lt. Andrews, the officer in charge of the Army unit, joined them in their concealed position in the underbrush. "The last three retreated down the road. I sent five men to retrieve them. We can't let them get back to their camp and tell the rest of them that the ambush was not successful. Better to let them hear nothing; it'll buy us time."

"We can't continue south along the road."

Damien whipped out a map. "We should head for this Scout squadron camp. It's out of our way, significantly west of the road. We'll be making a big semicircle. But if we still want to strike the Longcoat base we'll have to do it from some direction other than north, because they'll be expecting us to come from that direction."

"The Scouts may be able to help us."

"If they haven't been captured, too," Cain said grimly.

A slight rustling sent all four men diving for cover, weapons raised. They waited, holding their breath, but the rustling just grew closer and closer and then just…stopped. "What the hell?" Danny said.

Cain felt a rough tongue lick his hand. "Oh damn, it's the hound." He reached out and blindly felt for the dog's collar. He twisted the dial and the dog shimmered into visibility. He unbuckled the dog's vest, withdrew the letter and read it. He sniffed. "Huh."

"What?"

"Oh, just a dispatch from the Queen warning us that the Register somehow published the fact that we were leaving on a secret assignment and that our mission might be compromised."

"You think?" Damien exclaimed. "How the hell did the Register…"

Cain cut him off with a sharp hand motion. "There's no point worrying about it. We'll find out when we get back." He looked down at the letter again. DG's handwriting looked a little rushed.

He turned the letter over, hoping he wasn't being foolish, but was rewarded by the sight of a line of tiny letters at the bottom. He held the letter close and read them, warmth blooming in his chest. He smiled, folded the letter and tucked it inside his uniform.

"What was that?" Damien said.

"Nothing. It's personal."

"A dispatch is personal?"

"The front was a dispatch from the Queen. The back was…" He hesitated. "The back was a note from my wife."


	13. Chapter 13

Dinner was a sober gathering that night. The family plus Glitch and Raw usually ate in a small dining room near the kitchen. It was homier, and DG hated formal dining. This night, all anyone could seem to do was try to avoid looking at the empty chair to DG's right.

Ahamo was watching his daughter while trying not to be too obvious about it. "So," he began, after a long interlude of silence broken only by the sound of utensils on plates, "Miryam found the girl who took the photo?"

DG nodded. She'd yet to take a bite. "Just a chambermaid who had no idea that what she did was so harmful." She shook her head. "You know, Cain survived the Resistance. He survived eight years in a tin suit and somehow didn't go insane. He was shot twice helping me save my sister. He survived an attempt on his own life, and three months later he took a bullet that was meant for me." She sighed. "Now, to think that we could lose him because some chambermaid needed extra cash…"

Everyone was silent. No one was eating.

"You seem angry, DG," Ahamo said.

"I am angry, Dad. I'm angry at him for going off on this mission, I'm angry at myself for letting him, I'm angry at Jeb for getting himself captured, I'm angry at the Longcoats for doing the capturing and I'm angry at the world just for existing."

Ambrose nodded. "I guess that covers everybody, then."

DG snorted bitter laughter. "Yeah, everybody." She tossed down her fork. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed," she announced. She got up and walked out.

The rest of the family just looked around at each other for a moment. Finally, Azkadellia sighed. "I'll go," she said, and started to rise.

To everyone's surprise, Raw stopped her. "No. Raw go." He followed DG out, leaving three surprised people in his wake.

* * *

She knew it was Raw before he even reached her bedroom door. She might have expected it. He sometimes came to her when she was particularly upset, but only if she was alone. His emotional peace had often soothed her. She made her heart welcoming, so he would know to come right in.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand, his eyes closing. "DG scared."

"Yeah, DG's scared, all right."

"Scared for Cain."

All she could do was nod.

"Raw will try to sense Cain."

She frowned. "How can you do that? He's far away."

He met her eyes. "DG and Cain…" He went quiet, searching for the right words. "Hearts are connected. Can sense Cain with this," he said, putting two fingers over her heart.

_Our hearts are connected. I guess that says it all, doesn't it?_ She nodded. He held both her hands and bowed his head down. DG watched him, as always fascinated by this process. Raw became so still when he was Viewing, it was like all motion was taken from him, even breeze through his hair or the pulse of blood through his veins.

She felt something in her chest. A vague swelling, like the bubble of joy on a glad occasion or the lump of sadness that came with a broken heart. This felt…content, and peaceful, and happy.

It was Cain. This was how she felt when she was with Cain. "Raw, I think I feel him."

He didn't acknowledge her, but the feeling grew until she could have sworn Cain was right there, with a hand on her shoulder, smiling at her.

"Cain…safe," Raw finally said. "Happy. Relieved."

"Oh, has he found Jeb?" DG asked. _If he's found Jeb, he can come home._

"Cain is with boy. But now, boy is safe, and…Cain thinking of DG." DG didn't dare breathe lest she disturb Raw's sight. "Wants now to come home. Impatient." There was a long pause, then Raw released her hands and met her eyes. "Cain safe. Coming home soon, Raw think." He touched her cheek. "Cain miss DG. Wants to be home with DG again."

She nodded. "Okay," she choked out, tears clogging her throat and nose. "Good. That's good." Relief that he hadn't been hurt or killed was making her a little flaky. "Thanks, Raw."

"DG can sleep now?"

It was much earlier than she would ordinarily have gone to bed, but she'd hardly slept the night before and her whole body seemed to be sinking into the bed. "Yeah. I think I can sleep now."

He patted her hand and left the room. DG turned over and burrowed into her own bedclothes. She considered going to Cain's room again, but that would entail getting up and bare feet on cold floors and she was just so comfortable.

_Besides, tomorrow night he'll be here. And if I have my way that bedroom of his isn't going to be slept in for a long time._

* * *

Cain's small group made it to the scout basecamp before dark, which was a miracle given that they had to walk almost ten clicks through dense forests. They'd sent a man ahead so they wouldn't have to fear being shot when they walked out of the woods.

The scout squad leader, Lt. Vincennes, met them at the gate. "This is a surprise, we weren't expecting…" His eyes widened as he saw Cain. "General Cain!" he said, his voice going shrill with surprise. "I mean…Your Highness," he amended, bowing.

"As you were," Cain said, saluting. "It's just General, Lieutenant."

"But…I…wha…what are you doing here?" Vincennes seemed utterly gobsmacked to be suddenly confronted by the Consort on his doorstep. _Maybe I ought to have warned them,_ Cain thought. It was strange that people might need to be warned before meeting him.

"I've come to…"

"Oh! You've come looking for your son!"

Cain blinked. "Yes. How do you know…"

"He's here!"

Now it was Cain's turn to splutter incoherently. "He's _here?_ "

"Yes!" Vincennes exclaimed. "He and his squad got away from the Longcoats, we picked them up on a routine border patrol this afternoon!"

Lt. Andrews stepped forward. "They got away? All of them?" He and Cain exchanged a glance. The odds of an entire squad of captured soldiers all escaping at once was so low as to be a practical impossibility.

"I know, it sounds crazy, but wait till you hear the story," Vincennes said, motioning for them to follow. He headed back into camp and led them to the largest hut, which seemed to be the mess hall and briefing room. Cain's eyes swept the faces of the men, but before he saw Jeb he was hearing his voice.

"Dad!" Jeb jumped up from the far side of the room. Cain's knees went a little wobbly with relief at the sight of him, and then Jeb was around the side and striding up to him. Cain hugged him with unabashed enthusiasm, past caring if such a display was manly or not. Jeb hugged back, then pulled away to gape at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to find you, of course! Looks like I could have spared myself the trouble, if you're just going to go around rescuing yourself!"

"But…what happened to you guys? Why are you here if you didn't know I was here?"

"We were ambushed on the Southern Pass. Somehow the Longcoats over the border got wind that I was coming south and figured I was coming for you. We got a dispatch warning us, but it didn't get there in time. I have no idea how they found out."

Jeb sighed. "I think I can help you with that." He leaned over a table and picked up a newspaper.

Cain took it, his mouth falling open. The entire front page was a picture of himself kissing DG on the portico just before he left. "Great lakes," he muttered.

"They say you're leaving on an 'unknown military engagement.'"

He nodded. "Yeah, that'd do it."

"Dad, I hate to poke my nose in, but…you could be a little more discreet."

"I thought we were," Cain said. "I have no idea who took this. Must have been taken out a window or something, there was no one on the portico except us, the family and my two officers." He glanced up at Jeb, who was looking a little…fidgety. _Well, hell. It can't be too much fun to have the entire squad looking at a giant picture of your dad and the Queen kissing like it's going out of style._ "I'm sorry about this, Jeb. I'm sure it makes you…uncomfortable."

Jeb took the paper back. "It's fine. But I'm fine, we're all fine, you should head back to Central City."

Cain led him to an empty table nearby and sat him down. "Not until you tell me how you and your squad escaped."

Jeb grinned. "It was pretty sweet, I don't mind saying. They had us all in one room, which was their first bonehead mistake. They were going on and on about how they were going to torture us and blah blah blah but they hadn't gotten around to it yet. So a bunch of them left on some kind of patrol, leaving only a few guards. One of the guys managed to convince our guard that he was really a Longcoat working undercover in our squad and that he had to be taken to the man in charge right away. I can't believe the guy fell for it. So he opened the door, and we were ready. We rushed the guy and got out."

Cain was still dubious, but he wasn't going to say so right this second. "That was fast thinking."

"Well, it's not like I had a choice." He was watching Cain's face. "You didn't have to come out here, Dad."

"Yes, I did."

"I can take care of myself."

"No question. But I wasn't there for you for eight years, and…"

Jeb ran a hand through his hair. "How long are you going to try and atone for something that wasn't even your fault? You were betrayed, you were imprisoned, I don't blame you for any of it."

"Not even for getting into the Resistance in the first place?"

"No, of course not! You did what had to be done, you were a hero! You know how much that inspired me when I was coming into the Resistance myself? I thought you'd given your life for that cause! I was proud!"

"That doesn't change the fact that for me, myself, I didn't look out for you like a father expects to, and I'm damn well going to do it now."

Jeb nodded. "The Queen can't have been happy about it."

Cain chuckled. "It's okay for you to call her by her name, you know."

"Uh, no thanks."

"But no, she wasn't in favor of it."

"She could have ordered you not to leave."

"Could have. She wouldn't do that to me, though."

Jeb glanced down at the newspaper again, sitting nearby with the picture facing up. He looked at it for a few long seconds. "You love her, don't you?" he said, quietly.

Cain sighed, his own eyes drawn like magnets to the image. "I don't know, son. It's complicated. She's my friend, we've been through a lot. I'll have to…you know, think about it…" He trailed off, the thought petering out into nothingness.

_Look at yourself with her. Have you been that free with anyone since Adora died? Or even with Adora? Look at how you're holding her, look at your face. You're abandoned to it, to her. And it felt so real, so true through to your bones, that how you'd been with her for years felt like a paper-thin mask._

_To hell with it._

He met Jeb's eyes. "Yes. I love her. I don't have to think about it and it's not complicated. I don't know why I thought it had to be." Jeb nodded. "I married her as a favor. I thought we'd be like we'd always been. Friends, family. Somehow in the middle of trying to be her friend, I fell in love with her."

"And vice versa?"

"That, I don't know for sure."

"I do." Jeb grabbed the paper and held it up. "You don't kiss someone like this unless you mean it, Dad."

Cain flushed. "I guess you're right." He scanned Jeb's face for signs of anger, or resentment, but saw only blankness. "I'm sorry, son. This can't be easy for you."

Jeb put the paper down, crossing his arms on the tabletop. "I'll give it to you straight, okay?" Cain nodded. "I wish you had never gone into that suit, and you and Mom stayed married forever. I can't have that, so part of me wants you to just pine for her forever, never being with anybody else, never wanting anyone else, never feeling for anyone else what you felt for Mom." He reached out and put his hand on Cain's arm. "Don't look so distraught, Dad. I said _part_ of me wants that, and it's that selfish little-boy part that wants it. The rest of me knows that's not fair to you, and not realistic. The rest of me wants you to be happy, and knows that Mom wouldn't want you to waste away grieving for her any more than I do. The grown-up part of me, that is."

Cain smiled. "It's hard for me to think of any part of you as grown up, no matter how big you get…or how smart." He stared down at his wedding ring, the one DG had put on his finger, seeing the ghost of its predecessor there. "For what it's worth, I _planned_ to pine for her forever. I never wanted to find anyone new, or love anyone else. I guess I didn't have a say."

"DG can be real stubborn that way."

He chuckled. "Yes, she can." He looked into Jeb's face again. "But you ought to know that I don't feel for DG what I felt for your mom. I don't love her less, or more. Just different. Your mom and I grew up together. We were so young when we got married. Full of grand plans and dreams. And being in that tin suit for so long turned it perfect in my head. I forgot all the troubles we had, the fights, the struggles, and I just remembered the good things. No real-world love could ever measure up. It made me fight what I felt for DG for a long time. It's so clear now, but I really…" He felt himself choking up, incredibly. He swallowed hard. "I really never thought I'd be so lucky to have it twice."

"You deserve it," Jeb said, quietly.

"It means a lot to me that you're okay with it."

"I'm…" Jeb hesitated. "I'm happy for you, Dad."

Cain smiled. "Thank you." He took a deep breath. "So I hope that means you'll understand now that I just want to get back to her, so let's go." He got up.

Jeb frowned. "What do you mean? I'm not going to Central City."

"The hell you're not."

"Dad, I have to get my squad back to our basecamp, and write reports on all this intelligence for the Central Command, and…"

"I didn't come all the way out here to find you just to leave you here!"

"I've been out here for months! Why should I leave now just because I've seen some action?"

Cain was opening his mouth to retort when he stopped himself. _He's right. What, did you think he was going to peacefully let you reassign him to some safe location where he'd be bored silly? He's your son, after all._

_But goddamn, I don't want to leave him here._

_He's an adult. You can't control him. If you try, you will drive him away. Is that what you want?_

He rubbed his forehead. "All right, son. I'm sorry, you're right. It's your choice. I sure wish you'd at least come back with me, just for a few days. I get to see you so seldom."

Jeb got up, smirking. "Nice offer, Dad, but you're not fooling me. I'm not the one you want to be spending time with right now." Cain blushed, but couldn't exactly deny it. "How about I come up to the City in a month or so? Stay a few days?"

"That'd be great. We could all go out to Finaqua. Do some fishing."

Jeb nodded. "But you shouldn't leave right now. It's dark. Wait until morning."

Cain considered this. _He's right, you should wait for first light. It's stupid to set out in the dark._

_If I go too much longer without seeing her I might explode._

_You'll live. Let her get a good night's sleep. She'll need it, since you don't plan on letting her sleep much for the next few days._

He blushed again at his own thoughts. "All right. We'll bunk up here for the night and leave at first light."

Jeb clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Now, I ought to get back to my men, but we can talk after that, okay?"

Cain nodded. "I'll brief my men on the plan."

"Okay. Why don't you write a note to that young, beautiful trophy wife of yours?" he said, dropping a wink.

Cain laughed. "She's the Queen. If anything, I'm the trophy husband." Jeb grinned and headed back to where his men were gathered. Cain left the tent and found Vincennes with Lt. Andrews, Danny and Damien.

"All okay?" Danny asked.

Cain nodded. "Did he fill you in on how they escaped?"

They nodded. "I still don't buy it," Andrews said. "The Longcoats made like four or five tactical errors in a row for that escape to have worked. I can buy one or two, but not that many."

Cain crossed his arms. "The only reasonable explanation is that they were allowed to escape."

"I agree. It's a troubling thought."

"Sure," Vincennes said, bitterness lacing his voice. "They must have been let go, because scouts aren't smart enough to manage their own escape, right?"

"No one's saying that," Cain said, holding up a hand. "It's just suspicious that they could _all_ get away in the way they described without the Longcoats letting it happen."

"Why would they do that?" Vincennes demanded.

"Only one reason," Damien said, looking grim.

Cain nodded. "To track them." The men exchanged alarmed glances, then turned and ran back into the tent. "Jeb!"

"Yeah?"

"We're thinking the Longcoats might be tracking you. Did they take any of your clothes while they had you there?"

"They took all of our jackets, but they…" He trailed off, his face going slack with realization. "But they gave them back with the weapons removed."

Cain took a deep breath. "Come on. We've got to check every one. Starting with yours." Jeb's men took off their coats and began going over them. Cain and Jeb held Jeb's coat between them, their fingers exploring the seams, pockets and corners.

Cain's hopes that he was just being paranoid were dashed when his fingers found a flat bump in the seam of the jacket's lower hem. He met Jeb's eyes, then whipped out his pocketknife and tore the seam open. He withdrew the transmitter, small and lethal.

The thought passed between them, but before Cain could do so much as open his mouth to call for an evacuation, all hell broke loose.


	14. Chapter 14

_two nights later…_

* * *

DG was dreaming of Finaqua.

Her subconscious seemed to have a special connection to the summery palace; she dreamt of it often, even though she'd only been there once since becoming Queen. Cain had taken her there for a week's holiday about two months before when he'd decided she needed some time off. He hadn't been wrong, but she didn't like saying so for herself.

But now, in her dreams, she was there again. She walked the halls, which melted into the fields and the streams and the lakes. Endlessly she walked, searching for something. Then she saw Cain, off in the distance, standing on the lakeshore with his back to her. He was wearing his old Tin Man clothes, which she hadn't seen him in for years.

She called out to him and he turned. _I have to tell him. I have to do it now before it's too late._ She ran, but her limbs were slow and stupid, held back by that dreamforce that dragged at her and wouldn't let her run fast enough. He waved and smiled, a sad smile, then turned and began walking away. She tried and tried to run but the moment she got to where she thought he was, he vanished. Finally she saw him on the edge of the forest and called for him to wait, wait for her, please wait.

He just turned and disappeared into the forest, as if he'd never been there at all.

She jerked awake, holding herself very still and quiet. Something had woken her.

Every sense on high alert, she glanced at her bedside clock. Almost five a.m.

_Something's happened to Cain. And something's happening here. Now._

The thought was unbidden but unshakeable. She'd come to trust the occasional flashes of intuition she exhibited. Her still-emerging magical abilities didn't come with telepathy, or precognition, but there was a mental element. An unpredictable, annoying one, but an element all the same…especially regarding things and people that were the most important to her.

The fact was that her concern for Cain's safety could no longer be called mere worry. Intense, agonizing terror was a more accurate description. They'd had no word since Saturday, the day they'd exchanged dispatches by stealth hound, and it was now about to be Tuesday. Saturday evening, Raw had sensed Cain relieved and with Jeb. If they'd left immediately, they would surely be back by now. Even if they'd left Sunday morning, they ought to have been back. If they had chosen to stay, for whatever reason, Cain would surely have notified her. She had a hard time believing he'd choose to stay any longer than he absolutely had to, when it was so clear that they had some things to talk about.

The only conclusion was that something had happened. It had been decided the previous evening that if there'd been no word by this morning, a squad would be sent after them.

_Cain. Oh God, I know we don't talk, I don't know if you even exist here in the O.Z. but if you're there please don't let anything happen to him._

But she couldn't think about him right now, alone in the woods with a few dozen soldiers and possibly in trouble. He was far away and she couldn't help him, but something was going on _here_. Something had woken her, and her magic was snapping all around her body like one of those summertime mosquito-zapping lights people used to hang on their porches back home. With effort, she pushed thoughts of Cain to the back of her mind and slipped out of bed, grabbing for her trousers and a t-shirt.

She stood stock-still in the center of her room, listening, waiting. She heard nothing.

Then, a figure dropped past her window.

DG cocked her head, blinking, too startled to react at first. _Did that just happen?_

She darted over to the wall next to the window, keeping herself out of sight, soundless on her bare feet. She peeked around the windowframe and saw a rope dangling outside. She craned her neck upwards but couldn't see what it was dangling _from._

_Holy shit. He was rappelling._

_We're under attack._

No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than the alarm sounded.

She heard the guards burst into the sitting room and quickly stepped into her sneakers before emerging. "Your Majesty, we need to get you to the bunker," Dillon said.

She thought about arguing. It wasn't in her nature to run and hide. But she didn't know from where the attack was coming, or how many there were, or what their objective was, although she could guess. It wouldn't be smart to charge right in before assessing the situation. So she went with them, a small huddle of four guards surrounding her.

"Where's my sister?"

"They're fetching her now, ma'am."

"We're waiting."

"We can't wait, Your Majesty."

"I said we're waiting!" That shut the guards up, even though DG knew they were probably right, but she wasn't willing to go to the bunker without Azkadellia beside her.

They didn't have to wait long; within ten seconds another huddle of guards appeared with Az in a bathrobe in the middle of them. "DG, what's going on?" she asked, hurrying to clasp her hand.

"We're under attack. Come on, we're going downstairs until we figure out what's the deal." They boarded the elevator, squished in with the eight guards, and started down. "Wait…where's Father? Az, have you seen…" DG trailed off.

"What?" Azkadellia said.

DG blinked. _What was I saying?_ "Nothing. Lost my train of thought."

The bunker elevator went directly from the residence floor to the bunker, five stories below ground, without any other points of entry. It was a slower ride because the car and cable were reinforced and heavier than the regular cars, and the suspense of their slow sink was agonizing.

Suspense which came to a screeching halt when the car did. "That isn't supposed to happen," Az said. The guards were looking around for something to do, someone to fight, but saw only the closed walls of the lift car.

_Well, if this is their plan, it sucks,_ DG thought…just before a loud _boom_ shook the car and rattled everyone's bones. They could do nothing but stare as the lift doors were pried open through a gaping hole in the shaft and they found themselves staring into the eyes of a dozen Longcoats with shotguns.

"Hello, Your Majesty," one of them said. He had more shiny bits on his coat than the others, DG figured that meant he was the leader. "My name is Nejo. Please, join us." He held out a hand.

_Great. A smarmy, overly polite bad guy. Do they all read from some kind of handbook? The shtick is pretty tired._ DG ignored the man's proferred hand and stepped out of the lift into the main corridor of the twentieth floor. She was rarely here; this floor was part of the archives. She was only sure what floor it was because of the room numbers nearby. She kept a tight hold on Azkadellia's hand as their guards were hauled out of the lift and disarmed. "Whatever you think you're going to do, it won't work," she said.

"It has already worked. This palace was designed to repel attack from the ground. The bulk of your guards are stationed below. It was ridiculously easy to come in from above and secure this floor so none of them can help you."

"You must have had help."

"From more than one person, yes."

DG scanned the group. She counted about thirty Longcoats. If they'd come in as he'd said, it wasn't too likely they were spread out. This was probably most of them. _Keep him talking._ The question of whether or not Cain's group near the border had also been attacked was physically battling her to be voiced and she kept forcing it back down again. "What are you gonna do with us?"

"Oh, that'll be up to the new King."

"The O.Z. can't have a King. Matrilineal, remember? It's the law."

"Well, they say change is good." He beckoned someone forward, and a Longcoat approached dragging a bound prisoner. DG saw with growing horror that it was Gerald Umbrey. He was staring at her with a baleful expression. "Meet the new King of the O.Z."

"Lord Umbrey," she said, through gritted teeth. _Good thing I didn't divorce Cain and marry this yutz, like certain people wanted me to._

He was shaking his head. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Your Majesty."

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"They killed my father, months ago," Umbrey said, miserably. "And said they'd do the same to me, and my sister, unless I helped them. They wanted me to try and…see if I could marry you, but you married the General before I could even meet you."

"So you decided a coup was the next best thing?"

"No! I never wanted this!" he cried. DG watched his face. She was inclined to believe him. The fact that the Longcoats were keeping him restrained was telling. "I tried to charm you away, thought maybe…maybe you'd leave him and marry me and that would satisfy them." Slow tears were leaking down his face. "I didn't think I'd like you as much as I did."

"Oh, good lord," Nejo said, rolling his eyes. "Spare us your flagellations, Umbrey. I've been listening to you whine for months."

DG still had a hold of Azkadellia's hand, hoping Nejo wouldn't notice her silence. She didn't dare look at her sister, who was seeing or hearing nothing at the moment. _How much time do you need, Az?_

_Few more minutes._

_I can stall him for that long._

_You have to stay calm. Don't disrupt the flow._

_I won't let go._

_I know you won't._

"I won't help you kill her, no matter what you threaten me with!" Umbrey was yelling.

"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary. You can just marry her now. Might help ease the transition with the people, too, if the former Queen seems to be okay with this…development."

"I already have a husband," DG said, unable to help the snarl creeping into her voice.

Nejo stepped closer, a look of fake sympathy on his face. "Oh, I'm afraid you don't."

_Don't listen to him. He lies._

He pulled out a long, deadly-looking sword. It was bloodstained. "Cain's blood," he said, calm as if he were demonstrating a new dance step.

_No. You don't have to believe him._

"You'll be happy to know that he died bravely." A tight smirk curled his lip. "The last word he spoke was your name. Isn't that romantic?"

DG clamped everything down. Tight, so tight that nothing could get through, nothing but her connection to Azkadellia, nothing but that flow from sister to sister. _He lies. He lies. He lies._

"I can see you don't believe me. Frankly, I don't care whether you do or not. I only care that…"

_Now, DG._

DG quickly shut her eyes and threw up as much of a shield around herself as she could before Azkadellia let go with a cry, a pressure wave bursting from her and blasting through the Longcoats, toppling them like bowling pins and stunning them into a daze. Even DG wasn't completely safe; the impact rocked her on her feet and sent her head spinning. Az sagged to the floor in a half-faint.

DG let go of her and sprinted towards the door to the stairs that led down, where the palace guard would be waiting, or at least where she hoped they'd be waiting. She was halfway there when someone grabbed her leg and she flew headfirst onto the floor.

She spun and saw Nejo, pale-faced and manic, grabbing at her lower legs. She kicked him away and got to her feet again. She had to reach the door before the Longcoats recovered from Azkadellia's Stunning. Nejo seemed just as determined to stop her. He staggered up and lunged for her. She sidestepped him, spun and landed a hard kick right into his stomach, glad she'd kept up with her martial-arts lessons and wishing Glitch could see her put them to use. Nejo was much larger than she was, and her kick didn't have nearly the effect on him she'd been hoping for. She ducked his arm as he swung it around to hit her and punched him in the jaw as hard as she could, which seemed to hurt her more than it did him.

_I don't have time for this. I have to get to the door._

_Cain's dead._

_No, he isn't. Nejo was just trying to throw you off balance. He's probably fine and rushing home as fast as he can._

She grabbed Nejo and thrust her knee right into his crotch hard enough that she felt the ligaments in her leg pull and twist. That was going to hurt tomorrow. But the damned guy kept coming.

Suddenly Nejo was grabbed from behind and thrown off her. "Go!" Umbrey shouted at her, giving her a push for good measure.

DG stumbled and regained her footing, then ran for the door again. She unbolted it and threw it open, and blessed Haven, the stairway was crammed to bursting with palace guard, who poured in, wild-eyed with frustration and ready to kick Longcoat ass. DG sagged against the wall, sliding to the floor, and sat there until she felt herself borne up by two pair of arms. She looked up and saw Glitch and Raw lifting her to her feet. "Are you all right?" Glitch asked.

She nodded. "Uh-huh. Might be a little bruised."

"Well, you just single-handedly repelled a Longcoat military takeover, so I'll take 'bruised.'"

"Not single-handedly. Azkadellia really did it." She broke away from them and hurried to Az's side. The guards were lifting her off the floor. Her head lolled. "Az?" she said, taking her hand. "Can you hear me?"

"Unh," Az groaned. "Did it work?"

"You bet it did," DG said, smiling. "You knocked 'em dead."

"Mmm. Good." She seemed to shake it off a little, more awareness coming into her eyes. "I'm okay."

"You're not okay, you should go lie down."

"I'm staying here with you," she said, her voice sharper now.

"You two should go back to the residence," Ambrose said. "This is going to take some sorting-out. Take your own guards and stay there until the guard has secured the whole palace."

DG nodded. "Gerald Umbrey was part of this, Ambrose."

"So it seems," he said, tightly.

"But in the end he helped me. I think he was coerced."

"We'll have him Viewed. Don't worry."

DG opened her mouth to tell them what Nejo had said about Cain, but she couldn't get the words out. _If I don't tell anybody else, it isn't true._ A childish forestall, but all she had. "C'mon, Az. Let's go upstairs."

* * *

Azkadellia was so tired that lifting her hand to her mouth to drink her tea felt like a heroic effort. She was sitting on the couch in the family drawing room watching her sister pace.

She shook her head. "They had more information about the palace than Gerald Umbrey could have given them. They knew where the bunker elevator shaft was, they knew which floor to use to best access it. They must have had another source, not necessarily a willing one."

Az sat up. "DG, I know what you're thinking, but…it might not be. There are other ways."

DG looked at her, and Az saw her desperation to believe that. She wished that she really believed it herself.

The door opened and Ambrose entered. "DG, you' d better…"

That was as far as he got before Jeb Cain pushed his way past, bloody and bruised and looking very much the worse for wear. He saw DG, went straight to her and hugged her. Az blinked in surprise. DG and Jeb weren't that close, to her knowledge.

"The Longcoats brought him," Ambrose explained. "He's the only one, though. He said he had to see you."

"Jeb, are you all right?" DG was saying, patting his back. She drew away. "What happened? Where's Cain?"

He stepped away, tears streaking his dirty face. Az's heart was growing heavier by the moment. _Oh, no. Oh God, no._ "He's dead."

Az watched DG's face close down. "We can't be sure about that," she said.

"I can! I saw it happen!" Jeb cried. "They _killed_ him, DG! Right in front of me!"

"Tell me what happened. _Exactly_ what happened."

Jeb visibly pulled himself together. When he spoke, his voice shook. "My squad and I were captured, but we'd escaped by the time Dad and his unit found us at another basecamp. He got suspicious that we were all able to escape, and thought they might be tracking us. We'd just found the transmitter in my coat, when…they were there. They were just everywhere. They had us surrounded and just started mowing everyone down. I hit the deck and I didn't see where Dad was right away. Then one of them ran in and grabbed me and hauled me out of the basecamp. The fighting went on but they kept me out of it. When it was over…everyone was dead. But they dragged me to the front and they had Dad down on the ground, on his knees. Then that guy…Nejo…he looks at me and says 'We'll take this to the Queen,' and he stabbed Dad right through the heart." Jeb's face was a mask of misery as he related this story, his words broken up and choked.

Az put her hands to her mouth. She wished she could shut her eyes but she couldn't stop watching DG's face. It had gone beyond blank. It was so blank now that it looked like no expression had ever touched it before and never would again. Jeb's face was warring with itself, one second crumpling, the next second clenched.

"They Viewed me, DG," Jeb said, hoarse. "They got stuff about the palace out of my head."

DG didn't seem to have heard him. "I need to see it."

Az stood up. "DG, no. Don't make him re-live it."

"I have to see. Raw?"

Raw walked forward from where he'd been hunkered down near the door. "DG not want to see this," he said, in that quietly emphatic way he had.

"No. I don't want to. I need to."

"Not make Jeb see again."

DG looked at Jeb, but hardly seemed to be seeing him. "I'm sorry, Jeb, but I have to see it."

He nodded, holding up a hand when Raw started to object again. "It's okay. I'd need to see it, too." He walked over to the mirror over the mantelpiece. Raw hesitated, but then joined him there. DG stood back, watching the glass; Az tried to take her hand but found it cold and unresponsive.

Raw put one hand on the glass and one hand on Jeb's head. The young man jerked a little, then bit his lip and shut his eyes as the image came into the glass.

Az wished she could look away. It was just as Jeb had described. Cain on his knees, held down by two Longcoats, his face stoic, not even looking at Nejo as he loomed over him. They heard Nejo speak, then he drew the sword. Just before the blow, Cain shut his eyes. Az saw his mouth move. You couldn't hear him, but it looked like he was saying her sister's name.

He gave the barest jerk as the sword passed through him. Blood poured from the wound. He fell to the ground, and the Longcoats left him there.

Raw released Jeb and stepped to DG. He watched her frozen face for a moment, then put both one hand over her heart, lowering his head in concentration. She sucked in a breath while he…what was he doing? Az couldn't tell. Whatever it was, it was an effort.

"Raw cannot feel Cain," he finally said. "Cannot see. Cain is…is lost." He pulled back, shaking his head, his hands going to his face before he sank to a crouch by the fireplace. Jeb stumbled to a chair and collapsed into it, his head in his hands.

DG stood there for a long moment. Az exchanged a glance with Ambrose, who looked stricken. "Excuse me," DG finally said, quiet and calm. She turned and left the room, walking with even, measured steps.

Azkadellia followed her out at a discreet distance, Ambrose right behind her. They watched DG walk down the hall towards her room. She was about to follow her there when DG suddenly stopped in the middle of the corridor. Az put out a hand to stop Ambrose, who was about to go to her. "Just a second," she whispered.

DG was just standing there, as if she'd forgotten not only why she was walking or where she was going, but even what the point of walking was in the first place.

She turned slowly around to face them, but she wasn't seeing them. As Azkadellia watched, her heart breaking for her sister's loss, DG's knees slowly buckled beneath her and she slumped with tragic, inexorable grace to the floor until she was sitting there, legs folded and back straight, her head still held high and her blank eyes staring into space.


	15. Chapter 15

DG was cold.

_Why am I sitting on the floor?_

Azkadellia and Ambrose appeared before her, crouching at her side. "DG, can you get up?"

She looked at them. "Give me a hand," she said, holding hers out. They grasped her and helped her to her feet. She nodded. "Thanks." She brushed herself off. "Ambrose, have General Showalter come to my office right away. In the meantime continue the cleanup and the investigation. Take Jeb to the hospital floor and have him checked over. I bet there are reporters all over the Square, right?"

Ambrose nodded. "Like a swarm of locusts. Quite a crowd of citizens, too."

"We need to prepare a statement."

"Would you like me to…"

"No, I'll do it. And, uh…keep it quiet about the General. I don't want that getting out quite yet." She hesitated. "I'll make a national address later, live broadcast. Arrange it." She started off towards her office but Ambrose stopped her.

"Are you sure you're up to that? We can always…"

"I need to do it. We just made it through a coup attempt, Ambrose. The people need to be reassured that everything is under control."

Azkadellia put a hand on her arm. "That's not what he meant, DG."

She sighed. "They ought to hear bad news from me."

Her sister stepped closer. "You're in shock, DG. Give yourself some time."

DG met her eyes. "You think I don't know that, Az? My husband's dead. But I can't give myself any time. I don't get to think about myself, or how the hell I'll ever…" She choked that off, fast. "I don't get to think about myself. Not now." She pushed past them and headed for her office.

It was blessedly quiet inside after she shut the door. She leaned against it for a moment, then went to her desk and sat down. This immediately brought her face to face with Cain's desk. It was neat, as usual, with only a few papers out of place that he'd likely just forgotten to put away. She could close her eyes and still recite what he kept on his desktop. Two framed photos: one of Adora and Jeb, one of herself. Pens and pencils in a joke coffee mug that said "No Cain, No Gain" which had been a gift from Danny Armagnac. An old brass deskplate from his former office that said "Gen. W.H. Cain, K.P.Z."

She got up, went over to his desk and picked up the deskplate.

_"You ought to get a new deskplate."_

_"What's wrong with that one?"_

_"It's not accurate. You're supposed to have an HRH in front of your name."_

_He flapped a hand. "It doesn't matter."_

_"If you're gonna have one, at least get it right."_

_"You don't have one at all. Not like anybody doesn't know who you are." He tipped back in his seat. "I'm going to get you one that just says 'Her Majesty.'"_

_"How about one that says 'The Bitch Is In?'" She smirked at him, hoping to tease out one of his too-rare grins._

_He snorted. "That one might be better on Ambrose's desk."_

_She chuckled. "Do you know the expression 'passing the buck?'"_

_"I'm in the military. It's practically our religion."_

_"Back home, one of our Presidents had a sign on his desk that said 'The buck stops here.'"_

_Cain grinned, then laughed. There's my grin, she thought. "That's perfect. I'm having one made for the office door."_

She put the plate back down and glanced at the framed photos.

Hers was gone.

The frame was still there, but it was empty. Her photo was gone from it.

DG sat down slowly in his chair. _He took my photo with him._ She felt it start to rise from her belly, that thing she feared the most because she knew it could overwhelm her if she gave it an inch. The awareness, the grief, the real gut-felt knowledge that Cain was dead, and she had never told him she loved him, or heard him say it to her, and now she never would, and…

She was saved by a knock on the door. DG jumped up and ran back around to her own desk, composing herself as best she could given that she was still wearing jeans and a t-shirt. _I'm still the Queen, dammit._

"Come in."

The door opened and General Showalter, Commander-in-Chief of the Ozian Home Forces, entered. "You sent for me, Your Majesty?"

"Sit down." He did, and she followed suit. "Call a meeting of the Defense council. We need a strategy to respond to this invasion attempt."

"I'm already formulating several plans, Your Majesty." He shifted in his chair. "Ma'am…I'm so very sorry about General Cain."

She folded her hands on her desk. "Thank you."

"He was a fine man. I admired him a great deal."

"Me, too," she whispered. She raised her eyes to the General's face. "There's something else we have to do."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Can you send a squad to collect our dead from that Scout camp?"

"I've already dispatched them, ma'am."

She smiled. "Good. Dismissed." He stood up to leave. "Oh, and General? No matter what he says, or how angry he gets or how much he screams and yells, Captain Cain isn't going anywhere."

"Understood."

"Feel free to blame me."

The General hesitated. "Ma'am, he is an able officer, and…"

"I understand that, General." She met his eyes again. "I let my husband go off and be killed. I refuse to allow the same thing to happen to his son."

Showalter nodded, saluted and left the room. Ambrose passed him on the way in.

"Yes, Ambrose?"

"We, uh…tested the blood on Nejo's sword." He sat down in front of her desk. "It's Cain's."

She nodded. "Anything else?"

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"With what?"

"The sword."

She could only stare at him. What was he asking her? "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't know…I just thought…"

"I don't give a rat's ass what you do with it! Clean it off and re-use it! Chop up vegetables with it! Melt it down into slag for all I care!"

Ambrose let the matter drop. He frowned. "I'd have thought your father would be with you, DG…why…" He blinked and trailed off, then shook his head and stood up with a sigh. "We can do that national address whenever you're ready."

She got up. "I'm ready now."

He goggled at her. "DG, you haven't had time to prepare a statement, or…"

"Or what?"

"You're kind of…disheveled."

"You think I care what I look like? Will anyone else?"

"If the point of this address is to reassure people that you're in control, you ought to look like you are."

"You're saying I don't?"

He put a hand on her shoulder and led her over to the mirror, turning her to face her own reflection. DG almost didn't recognize herself. Her hair was still bed-rumpled and frizzy, hanging around her head in blowsy tangles. Her face was milk-white and she could see the veins beneath the surface. She had dark circles under her eyes and smudges of dirt and blood on her skin. "You look like a woman who's just lost the man she loved, isn't dealing with it and can't think of anything except the next thing that has to be done," Glitch said, quietly.

She blinked at herself. "I'll go clean up. Thirty minutes."

* * *

Azkadellia was coming out of her bedroom, dressed and neatened, as Ambrose was coming down the hall. "How is she?" she asked.

Ambrose just shook his head, making a little twirly motion with his fingers near his ear. "She's…not all there."

"She's just in shock."

"She's put it in a little box and locked it up and she's not looking at it, at all."

"That's what she needs to do right now. She can't deal with the invasion and the country and Cain's death all at once."

Ambrose stared at his shoes for a moment, then sat down heavily on a nearby bench. "I can't believe he's gone."

Az sat down at his side and took his hand. "I know."

"I'm just as worried about DG as you are, but…Cain was _my_ friend, too." He sighed. "I don't know how we're all going to get along without him around to keep us out of trouble."

"I can't think about myself now," Az said. "I just have to focus on her. Can you imagine? Just as they figure things out…this has to happen." She sighed. "Where is Father, anyway? Hasn't anyone tried to…Ambrose, what's wrong? You have a look."

Ambrose was silent for a long moment. "We have another problem. It's such a loathsome problem I hate to even mention it."

"What?"

"You know how this whole kingdom loves Cain…loved," he amended, sadly.

"Yes."

"If she turns to stone and goes around blank-faced while the country is mourning…"

Az sighed. "They won't forgive her for that."

"I don't want to go looking for problems, but…"

"No matter what happens, I'll follow her lead," she said. "She's my sister."

"Let's see how this national address goes before we start worrying."

"Agreed." She squeezed his hand and got up. "You realize that's not even the worst part."

"I know. She's still heirless. And now a widow."

"Which means at some point we're going to have to hunt up another husband for her." Azkadellia paused, shaking her head. "And words can't describe how much I hate the fact that I just said that."

* * *

DG didn't want to look perfect. She wanted to look like she'd had a hell of a morning. It didn't feel right to put on makeup and fine clothes and do her hair to go on the air and inform the kingdom what had happened, to her and to them all. So she just bathed, put on clean clothes, braided her hair and dabbed on a little foundation to cover the bruises and scratches. That would have to do.

She walked to the small studio they kept for addresses like these. It contained a much more ornate desk than the one that sat in her office; just a showpiece, really. It had the Great Seal of the O.Z. hanging behind it on a banner and curtains draped all about.

"We've announced that you'll be addressing the nation at two o'clock," Ambrose said as she entered. "That gives you about fifteen minutes." He looked her up and down. "You look…better. How are you feeling?"

"Like the next person to ask me that is getting my pen jammed through their eye."

"O…kay." He harrumphed. "Want me to look at your speech?"

"No. Anyway, you can't. I didn't write it down."

"DG…"

"I know, Glitch. It's a sensitive time, politically delicate, blah blah. I won't say anything inflammatory."

"The last thing we need is citizens running into Flornistan with torches and pitchforks."

"I don't know. That sounds pretty good to me."

Ambrose was watching her like a hawk. _I know you mean well, Glitch. I know you're worried. I can smell it on you, and Az, and Raw, and everyone else. Please, just don't make me tell you to stay the hell away from me, because I am hanging on by a very thin thread and if any of you are too nice to me, or ask me too many questions, I might lose hold of it and go someplace I can't come back from by clicking my heels together._ "DG, I just don't know…" He stopped and looked away, and DG saw him blinking back tears. That brought her back into herself a little.

_They've all lost him too, you know._

"I just don't know what to say to you," he finished, hoarsely.

DG looked at her friend's face, then stepped forward and hugged him. His arms went around her at once and she felt him shudder. "You don't have to say anything," she whispered in his ear. "Just be you. Be my friend. And try not to worry."

He pulled back, nodding. "I don't know if I can manage that last one."

"I'm going to sit down. Let me know when it's time." He nodded, and let her be.

DG sat on a nearby chair and waited, watching the technicians fiddle with the equipment, thinking of what she planned to say. She had to keep it vague, she couldn't make any kind of a call to action, she had to reassure everyone that things were okay.

_Things are not okay. Things are on the dark side of the moon from okay. Things will never be okay again._

_Maybe not for you, but the kingdom will be all right._

_I'm a widow. I've been widowed._

DG pinched the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes tight.

_I don't know if I can do all this without him._

"DG? We're ready."

She stood up and went to the desk. She sat behind it, keeping her back straight, and arranged herself. The camera was pointed directly at her. The clock on the wall was counting down, and soon she'd have to look into that camera, into the eyes of her subjects, and say the words out loud.

* * *

Dillon Masterson, Royal Palace Guard, had been relieved of duty for the day after having been pronounced uninjured during the coup. He'd been told in no uncertain terms to go home and relax, but he was restless.

When he left the Spire and came into Gale Square just after noontime, he was surprised to find himself in the middle of a crowd. A very large crowd. People were standing, sitting, congregating, talking, all of them looking up at the Palace, at the tennis-court-sized viewscreens in the square. He was beset upon the minute he emerged by people asking him if he worked inside, if everything was all right, if the Queen was all right, and what about the Princess Royal, and the General, and what happened, and when would they know?

He'd had no answers, but before he could even make it out of the square, it was announced over the broadcasts that the Queen would be addressing the kingdom at two o'clock.

_Well, so much for going home._

He'd parked himself in a nearby pub, which quickly filled up with people waiting to see the Queen's address. He sat at the bar and ordered pint after pint. "Don't these people have viewscreens at home?" he grumped to the bartender.

"Sure. Just…something like this, people tend to want to get together." The bartender eyed him. "You okay, pal?"

"Oh, yeah. I only utterly failed at my job today."

The bartender didn't reply, because it was two o'clock, and the screens inside the pub were turned up. An eerie hush fell over the patrons. Dillon glanced outside…the streets were deserted, except for the clusters of people watching exterior viewscreens. He knew if he were in Gale Square, it would be elbow-to-elbow.

The royal seal came up on the screen, then the daily newsreader's face. "Citizens of the Zone, we bring you a special address from Her Majesty, Dorothea VIII."

The image switched to the familiar "office" that they used for addresses like these. There were a few murmurs when the Queen came into view. "She looks awful," he heard a woman mutter.

"My fellow citizens," she began, "I'm relieved to be speaking to you now, on what's been a very difficult day. I'm sorry that we haven't been more forthcoming with you, especially since it's been obvious that something's happened. I hope you'll understand once you know more.

Very early this morning, a group of expatriate Longcoats attempted to seize control of the Spire. We believe that their intention was to force the installation of a puppet ruler, ousting myself and the House of Gale from the throne. I am glad to report that this attempt was unsuccessful. The Palace Guard acted with heroism and bravery, and were able to free myself and my sister from captivity. All of the Longcoats have been taken into custody, and the situation is under control."

Relieved mutterings from around the pub. Dillon felt like shooting himself. _Yeah. We were so heroic and brave that she and her sister had to do all the work and save themselves while we sat there watching._

"What all of you should take away from my remarks is that nothing's changed. Everything is all right. Life will go on as…as normal." She seemed to choke a bit on those last few words. "But now, I'm sorry to say that I have some bad news to share with you." She visibly steeled herself and took a few deep breaths. You could have heard a pin drop in the pub. "It's my sad duty to inform you that General Cain is dead."

A gasp went up from the crowd, and Dillon heard a few sobs. The Queen paused before proceeding, no doubt to allow for reactions.

"He was killed by Longcoats while attempting to rescue his son, who had been taken captive." The Queen's hands were tightly clasped together on the desktop, but everyone could see them shaking. "General Cain was a great leader. I know that so many of you had respect and affection for him, and he never failed to make an impression on everyone he met."

She paused, looking down at her hands, her jaw clenching. People were crying all over the pub, some quietly, some with more enthusiasm.

When the Queen spoke again, her tone of reassurance and confidence had gone. She sounded hoarse, and not at all herself. "I know there'll be a lot said about Cain in the days and weeks to come," she said. "Some of it by friends, some of it by people who never knew him at all. Not all of it will be complimentary." Her voice dropped even lower. "To all of you, the General was a figure. A symbol, maybe. To me, he was just my husband." She sniffed, shaking her head. "I say 'just' my husband, like that was a small thing. It wasn't. He was the most important person in my life. I don't really know what to say about him, about the Cain that I knew and lived with, except that…he was the best man I ever knew, or ever expect to know. He was the yardstick I used to measure everyone else, and few made the grade." She choked up a little and looked away from the camera, put two fingers to her mouth and composed herself before continuing. "I will miss him for as long as I live."

The tears of the onlookers were intenstifying. Dillon heard a woman behind him say "Oh, that poor woman."

"We will all have grieving to do in the days to come. But we should also remember that the O.Z. is stronger than any one man, or any one ruler, and we've proven that today. Thank you, and good day."

The transmission ended. The murmurs in the pub rose in pitch and volume as people turned to each other in disbelief, in shock, in sadness, in relief.

Dillon could only stare at his beer, seeing in it the reflection of his own inaction.

_You will so get fired if you do what you're contemplating._

_You know what? I don't care._

He slapped a few coins down on the bar and went outside to find a reporter.

* * *

When DG came out of the meeting of the Defense Council, Azkadellia was waiting for her. She held out her hand. "Come on. I have two things you ought to see."

"All right." Az led her to the family sitting room. The viewscreen was on…DG frowned. "Is that…"

"It's Dillon. One of your guards."

"What the hell is he doing on TV?"

"Let's listen." Az turned the sound on. Dillon was being interviewed by the anchors of one of the evening news broadcasts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here with Dillon Masterson, a member of the Spire Palace Guard. As you know, the guard is normally prohibited from speaking with the press, but Mr. Masterson has come to us. Sir, you told me before we aired that certain elements of the Queen's address earlier today were…not accurate."

"No, ma'am. And I was there with her."

"What wasn't right about it?"

"Well…the Queen said that the palace guard come in and saved the day. That isn't really the case, ma'am. The Longcoats, they'd blocked off one whole floor, and most of the guard couldn't even get to where we were, me'n seven other guards what work on the residential floor. Four of us was with Her Majesty, four was with the Princess. Them Longcoats took our weapons and we couldn't do nothing."

"How did you escape?"

"Was the Queen, ma'am. And the Princess Royal. They done some magic that knocked out all the Longcoats. Took a lot outta the Princess, she couldn't hardly do nothing after, and the Queen had to get to the door before they got their senses back. She hadta fight off one with her bare hands."

The anchorwoman looked stunned. "You're saying that the Queen and her sister fought off thirty Longcoats by themselves?"

"That's what I'm sayin, ma'am. And it shamed me awful to hear her today giving us all that credit when we done nothing, and it was all her and the Princess."

"Why wouldn't she say so?"

Dillon shifted in his chair. "I don't guess she thinks it's seemly to take any a the credit for herself, or the Princess. Folks might not believe it, might think she was just talkin herself up. I'm here to tell you that's how it went down, and I know all us guards wouldn't wanna be taking the credit when all we done was clean up the mess after they'd done the work." He blinked, his hands wringing. "And I know I'm putting her in a spot, ma'am. I want to ask everybody just to leave her alone about this. I'm telling it cause it oughta be told, not because I want everybody coming after her asking about it. She's trying to mourn the General now, so…let's all just let her be for awhile."

The anchorwoman nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Masterson." She turned to the camera. "Well, there you have it, folks. I think Mr. Masterson's suggestion that we let the Queen grieve in peace is well taken."

Azkadellia muted the broadcast as they moved on to coverage of the day's invasion attempt. "So much for not accepting glory for ourselves."

"Well, we tried." DG shook her head. "That Dillon. Too honorable for his own damn good." She sighed. "He clearly spent too much time with Cain." She turned to her sister. "What's the other thing you wanted me to see?"

Az took her hand and led her to the balcony. Night had fallen, and even though it was rarely fully dark in Central City with all the lights in the streets and buildings, it seemed even less dark than usual. "Az, what's that glow?"

"You'll see." She pulled DG onto the balcony so she could look down.

DG stared, the breath leaving her body. "Holy crap," she whispered.

The Spire sat in the center of Gale Square, which was four city blocks wide on each side, streets and avenues radiating outwards from it. The entire Square, as far as DG could see, was full of people. They spilled into the streets, clogging them with this spontaneous mass of humanity.

They all had candles. It was a small constellation come down to the ground. She could hear music, and snatches of singing, and the great oceanic murmur of what had to have been thousands of people. "Az…where'd they all come from?"

"From all over, DG."

She stared down at them, transfixed. She was twenty stories up; they couldn't see her from this distance.

"I'm going down," she finally said.

Az smiled. "We'll come with you."

* * *

The captain of the palace guard didn't like the idea at all, but DG didn't much care. "We're going outside," she said, flanked by Ambrose, Azkadellia and Raw. "Like it or not. I don't want an escort or a protection detail. I'm just going."

He had no choice but to give in, so DG put on a jacket and took the lift down to the ground floor. She tried to remember if she'd ever actually entered or exited the palace by the front door. She usually used the private entrance.

The guard opened the door for her and she stepped out into the courtyard. The Spire was surrounded by an ironwork fence, so everyone could clearly see her as she emerged. An immediate hush fell over the crowd. Everyone watched as the Queen walked through the courtyard to the main gate. The guards opened it for her and she stepped into the Square. The Tin Men had put up barricades to prevent the people from pressing up against the fence, and there was about twenty feet of space between…if you could call it space, because at the moment, it was completely covered with flowers, candles, and tokens people had left. The Spire had become a shrine.

DG walked along in a daze, staring at the mementos that had been left. She saw dozens of copies of that now-infamous picture. Some people had reproduced it with their own hands, in paint, in pencil, in crayon. She saw the drawings of children. Pictures of Cain cut from newspapers and magazines, messages written in bold, unabashed letters. _We will miss you. You were brave and true. Our Hero. You went too soon._ Unrestrained expressions, the sort she was supposed to deem beneath her as a royal.

She envied her people. They could do this. They could do what she could not, they could scream and cry and make grand demonstrations of grief and just wallow in it, letting it take them over for as long as it needed to.

She crouched and picked up a placard that looked like a teenager had made it. It was very…glittery. That picture, the glossy color version that had appeared in a magazine after the original Register newsprint. The girl had written beneath it "Fairy tales are supposed to have happy endings."

_Who said it was a fairy tale? It was just my life._

_They saw it that way. That picture only proved it._

She put the placard back and turned to look at the people, all of them watching her, their faces lit from beneath by their candles. She was dimly aware of many flashbulbs going off, had been going off since she stepped outside the Spire, but for once it didn't bother her. They could take all the pictures they liked of this. The more, the better.

"We're so sorry, Your Majesty," someone said. A murmur ran through the crowd, heads nodding, sad faces, a few tear-streaked ones.

She smiled weakly. "Thank you," she said. She came closer, wanting to see their faces, look in their eyes. Someone reached out a hand, and she clasped it for a moment. "Thank you," she repeated.

"I'm sorry," said the man whose hand she held.

She let go of him and moved down the barricade, meeting eyes, moving on by, touching hands, hearing their quiet condolences, seeing their tears. Azkadellia and Ambrose were at her side now.

She stopped in front of a woman in her fifties, kind-faced and curly-haired. She reminded DG a little bit of Emily, whom she had been wishing for all day. "Your Majesty," the woman said.

"Can I see?" DG said, motioning to the thing that had caught her eye. The woman held up a painting, and the nearby mourners moved their candles closer so DG could see.

She stared at it for a moment, speechless. "It's beautiful," she finally said.

It showed herself and Cain, but it wasn't modeled on a photo, as most paintings she'd seen of them were. They were sitting on a blanket in a wide, grassy meadow. It looked like they were having a picnic, something they'd never actually done. She was sitting in front of him, his arm around her waist, both of them smiling at each other, sunlit and happy, in casual springtime clothes. The likenesses were eerie. DG looked at the depiction of herself in the painting, and it was more than the face she saw in the mirror. This image of her was not how she looked, but how she imagined herself. It was the DG inside of her, brought onto this canvas.

"Did you paint this?" she asked the woman.

"Yes, ma'am. I was going to display it in my shop for your anniversary celebration, but…well, I thought I'd bring it here." DG touched the image of Cain. Somehow, this woman had captured the private Cain. Not the stoic, severe version he'd shown to the public but the steadfast, kindhearted and sometimes mischievous man she'd known. The man she'd fallen in love with. "I hope I've done the General justice, ma'am."

DG smiled. "More than that. This…this is _my_ Cain here. I don't know how you did it. No one saw him but me." She looked up at the woman's face. "What's your name?"

"Mrs. Thelma Winterset, ma'am."

"You're very talented, Mrs. Winterset."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. It was a joy to paint."

"I wish I could step through it and be there." She started to hand the painting back.

"No, it's for you, ma'am. You keep it."

"Oh, I…" She started to say she couldn't accept it, but the truth was that she wanted it. Badly. "Thank you."

"I lost my own dear husband last year," Mrs. Winterset said, her voice roughening a little. "Cancer. I know how it is."

DG was still staring at the painting. "Did he know you loved him? Before he died?" She met Mrs. Winterset's eyes.

"Yes, he did."

She nodded, turning to hand the painting to Azkadellia. "Then you were both lucky."

A tear rolled down Mrs. Winterset's face. "You're so young for such a loss, ma'am. I'm so sad for you. And you're…you're just…" She trailed off, flushing.

"I'm just what?"

"You're so _small,_ " Mrs. Winterset exclaimed, with a tiny sob. "It's different from seeing you on the broadcasts. I just want to wrap you up in my arms."

DG stared at her for a moment, then stepped forward and hugged her. She felt a wave of surprise run through the onlookers. This was probably a first in the annals of the House of Gale, the Queen hugging a total stranger, but she couldn't help herself. Mrs. Winterset hugged her back at once, and it felt just as DG had known it would. Like these arms were used to hugging emotional young women, and soothing away the hurt, and she knew that the little "shh" noises the woman was making had been made into the ears of her own daughters, perhaps her granddaughters too, and that the hand stroking DG's hair had smoothed away owwies, untangled unruly locks and healed broken hearts before hers.

She felt her levees and bulwarks weakening, and she could see it in her mind's eye. Letting it come, letting it all come right here, right now, sobbing in the arms of a woman she'd known for three minutes, awash in the pain she was putting aside.

But that couldn't happen. Not now. So she stepped back, drawing even, slow breaths. "Thank you for the painting," she said, glad to hear how steady her voice sounded. "It's beautiful."

DG started to move down the line, but Mrs. Winterset grasped her hand. "It's not true, you know," she murmured. "That we never saw your Cain."

"It's not?"

"We saw. We saw it in the way you looked at him."


	16. Chapter 16

**Sunday**

Wyatt Cain woke up in a grungy, puke-green tiled room. It looked...institutional, like he'd been committed to a low-rent insane asylum.

He hoped that wasn't the case.

"Great Gale," he muttered. He tried to sit up but found he could not, because he was shackled to the bed upon which he lay. "What the hell?" he said, a little more awareness coming into his mind.

"Lie still, now," came a soothing voice that made Cain think of his Poppa, his mother's father, a kind-hearted man with gentle hands who he'd adored as a boy. Poppa had died when Cain was twelve, and in some ways he'd never gotten over it. But it couldn't be Poppa here with him now, his confused brain reminded him.

A face appeared over him, an older man about Ahamo's age with long gray hair tied back in a ponytail and a neat goatee. "Don't struggle," he murmured, his tone oddly insistent. "They'll hurt you if they have to."

Recollections were rushing back into Cain's mind. Scout camp. Tracking devices. Longcoats. Battle, gunshots, blood and fighting and men falling all around him. Being forced onto his knees. He'd seen the sword and knew he was about to die. He'd thought of Jeb, flung a wild prayer skyward that he'd somehow escape with his life. He'd thought of DG, a sharp stab of pain passing through him that he'd never see her again, never hold her again or find out what they could have had together. He'd whispered her name, the only benediction he could give himself, then…a pinprick to the back of his neck, then the sword. He gasped, his flesh recalling the sensation of the cold metal passing through him, and then nothing, until now.

He looked up at the man standing over him. "Where am I? What is this place? Who are you? Where are my men?"

"Shh, one thing at a time." The man put a calming hand on Cain's chest. "I'm Dr. Mynus. You're going to be just fine."

"But…he stabbed me," Cain said, lifting his head to look down at his chest. He was shirtless, and over his heart was a raw pink gash, healed over. He blinked dumbly at it. _Great Gale, have I been here long enough for it to heal that much?_ "How long have I been here?" he croaked.

Dr. Mynus looked stern. "If you don't calm yourself, I'll have to knock you out again. Do you want that?"

"No," Cain muttered.

"I'll answer your questions as much as I'm able, but you can't excite yourself. You're coming out of…well, a state."

"How long?"

"Less than 24 hours."

"But how…the wound!"

"I know. Amazing, isn't it? Little trick the Longcoats picked up from the western desert shamen. It's called near-death stasis. They inject you with a stasis agent right before they strike the fatal wound. The stasis suspends all body functions, which simulates death to a very high degree of accuracy, but shields you from the injury. While you are in this state of suspension, the injury can be healed very quickly."

Cain goggled at him. "They…they _faked_ my death?"

"I'm afraid so. It isn't the first time they've done it."

Cain looked around, his confusion mounting, along with his rage. "Who are you people?" he choked out.

The doctor sighed. "Don't group me with them. I'm no more here of my own free will than you are. As for who _they_ are…I'm not entirely sure. There are Longcoats here, but Flornish too, and some mercenaries I think might be from Swyra. But if you want to know who's in charge, I can't help you. I've been here three months and I've never seen anyone giving orders."

"Where are the rest of my men?" He wanted very badly to ask about his son, but he didn't want to alert anyone that his son was among the prisoners, in case they didn't already know. No need to advertise the leverage they had on him if they were holding Jeb.

Dr. Mynus put his large, careworn hand on Cain's arm. "You're the only one here, son."

Cain felt cold. He didn't need to be told what that meant. "Why…why'd they bring me here? Lot of trouble," he muttered. "Why fake my death if nobody knows about it?"

"They will have made sure someone saw you die, so they could report as much to the authorities."

Another memory sprung to Cain's mind, this one of Jeb, held by Longcoats, shouting and struggling as Cain was pushed to his knees… "They made my…one of my men watch," he said. "He saw everything."

"You really need to rest," Mynus said.

"My wife," Cain said, grasping at the doctor's shirt with the limited amount of motion he had in his hand. "She'll think I'm dead."

The doctor sighed. "That, I'm afraid, is the entire idea, General Cain."

Cain was moved into a cell with a heavy steel door, a small porthole cut into it at eye level. He paced restlessly, testing his legs, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

_I'm the only prisoner they brought. But they made sure Jeb saw me stabbed, so he'd have to be kept alive. But they didn't bring him back here. They must have him somewhere else. In order for him to tell anybody what he saw, he'll have to be taken back to Central City._

Which means they're probably planning to go to Central City.

DG.

A guard brought him a tray of food, another guard holding a gun on him while it was set down on the table. "Who's in charge here?" Cain demanded, trying to sound authoritative. "Why are you holding me?"

The guards just sneered at him and left, bolting the door behind them.

Cain felt like tearing his hair out. He kept pacing, unable to sit still while his son was out there in Longcoat custody. His men were dead. He couldn't bear to think of Danny and Damien, loyal officers, _friends,_ killed in the raid.

_They're planning something. It's the only explanation. Something big, something major that they need me to be dead for. It has to be an attack on the palace. Prelude to…Great Gale, maybe even an invasion._

He thumped his forehead against the wall, a vast and useless rage coursing through him at the thought of DG in danger and himself powerless to do anything about it. His Queen, his wife, the throne that he had sworn to protect.

_If I lose her now, I won't make it._

The simple fact of this thought was beyond debate. He'd survived losing eight years to a tin suit. He'd survived losing his son. He'd survived losing Adora not once, but twice. Losing DG, now…he couldn't take it. He couldn't think about it. If it happened, there wouldn't be much left of him.

The door opened again. _Dinner already?_ But no, it was Dr. Mynus, handcuffed. The guard uncuffed him, then locked them both inside. "I've come to check on you," the doctor said.

Cain sat down. Mynus leaned over him. "Heard anything new?" Cain asked quietly.

"They're definitely planning something."

"I figured that much. What kind of preparations are they making?"

"Well…there are more Longcoats around than usual, and these guys look tough. Tougher than most, even."

"They're getting a strike force together. How many Longcoats around here, total?"

"I don't know. No more than fifty."

"Not enough for an invasion, then. But enough for a surgical strike on the Palace, paving the way so a larger force can mount one." He shook his head. "We've tracked some buildup of forces along the border, but nothing on the order of an invasion army, unless it's being somehow concealed."

"Well, these people are damn good at concealing things," Dr. Mynus said, his tone grim.

Cain looked up at the man's profile. "Where are you from, anyway?"

"Win-Kia."

"No kidding? I'm Winkite myself."

"I know." Mynus shrugged. "I was visiting my cousin here, and at the border on my return trip I was told I could not return to the O.Z. because of some administrative mix-up with my papers. I went back along to the customs office willingly enough, assuming it would all be straightened out, but they brought me here. I wasn't allowed to contact anyone in the Zone for help."

"Maybe we can help each other," Cain said.

"Don't distress yourself. Neither of us are going anywhere they don't want us to go. This place is magically shielded. It can't be seen with the eyes or Viewed with the heart."

"You seem pretty cavalier about the whole situation."

"I'm making the best of the lot I've been dealt, General."

"Well, I can't just accept it."

The doctor shook his head. "You have no choice." He closed up his bag and knocked on the door. The guard returned, cuffed him, and led him out, locking Cain back into his solitude.

**Monday**

Time slowed to a crawl when all there was to do was stew about things you couldn't control.

Pacing got old. Sitting got older. Lying down was pure torture given that the mattress was an inch thick over industrial-grade metal springs. If only beating the shit out of somebody were an option, Cain might not have felt like he was about to tear off his own skin just for the sheer novelty of it.

But there was nothing to do but worry about DG, worry about Jeb, and obsess over all the things that might happen, or might already have happened.

His first break in the monotony of inaction came in mid-afternoon, when Nejo, the Longcoat who'd stabbed him, came barging into his cell, accompanied by two musclebound goons who hauled Cain to his feet (he'd been experimenting with sitting on the floor) and held his arms. "Thought you might like to know about our little midnight party, General Cain," he said.

"I don't give a shit about your entertaining plans," Cain growled.

"You might give a shit about these." He produced some hand-drawn maps and schematics. Cain stared, recognizing the interior layout of the Spire. "Your son's been so helpful."

"Jeb would never help you!" Cain spat.

"I didn't say he was happy about it. Oh, look here. It's the bedroom where your precious Queen sleeps. Ever been allowed into the sanctum sanctorum, Cain? I guess you must be, if they want her pregnant. Do they put you in there only when she's ripe, keeping you in your own pen the rest of the time like the royal stud bull? Or do they just milk you like a racehorse and get out the turkey baster?" Cain lunged forward but didn't get very far with two large men holding him back. Nejo laughed. "Touchy."

"Don't you talk about her," Cain spat.

"Hmm. Protective. That's nice. Don't worry, I've got a nice new husband lined up for her. I'm sure he'll take real good care of her, if you get my drift. Maybe he'll be willing to share."

"If any of you so much lay a finger on her, I'll make you wish you were never born," Cain said, raw and bleeding fury roughening his voice.

Nejo didn't seem impressed. "Love makes fools of men, Cain. I thought better of you, I gotta say. Such a famous do-gooder you are, so upstanding and stuffy. I hate to see you panting after that stringy little thing like this. But it's good for me that you two have gotten so…affectionate. I'm sure it'll be that much more of a blow to her when I show her this sword," he said, pulling out the same sword he'd stabbed Cain with. It was bloodstained and looked horrifyingly huge and sharp. _God, that thing went through my chest,_ Cain couldn't help but think. "She won't have much fight in her after that, I don't think. We'll give it a month or so for the transition before she has an unfortunate accident. Or hey! It could be suicide! She couldn't go on without you. That'll be nice and dramatic."

 _No, no, no, no,_ Cain's mind chanted. "It won't work. It'll never work."

"We've planned for everything, Tin Man."

Cain let his head hang down so they wouldn't see his eyes. _I bet you haven't planned for DG. People keep underestimating her. I hope you found out how badly you've done so._


	17. Chapter 17

**Tuesday**

Nobody brought him breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. Cain was back to pacing, his stomach rolling with worry for Jeb, and his friends and co-workers, but mostly for DG. His confidence in DG was unshaken, but that didn't stop his brain from conjuring a whole host of ways that disaster might have befallen his loved ones.

_What if they kill her? What if she's hurt? What if they take her prisoner and violate her? It's been known to happen._ He leaned his forehead against the cinderblock wall and pounded his fist against it in sheer frustration. He begged it to stop but his mind kept showing him images of DG being tortured, raped, beaten, the sheer horror of his thoughts a direct reflection of how much it would destroy him if anything happened to her. He felt like he could break through these walls with his bare hands and fly back to Central City on nothing but grim willpower, but his cell was as sturdy as ever, unimpressed with his anguish.

He sat on his cot, head in his hands. _Please, please let her be all right. Please don't let anything happen to her while I'm stuck in here._ He formulated plan after plan for escape. _I could overpower the guard when they come with food. If they ever come again. I'll get out of the cell, find a weapons locker, shoot my way out if I have to._

The fact that even if he did get out, he had no idea where he was or how to get back to the O.Z. wasn't entering his calculations. He had no choice. He had to think about getting out, because if he didn't, all he could see was Spire Palace in ruins, taken over by Longcoats, and his wife dead or worse.

He tried to keep believing in her, in the Palace Guard, in Ambrose and Az and Ahamo. _It won't succeed. It can't. That place is fortified eight ways from Sunday._ But he knew Longcoat ingenuity, and it was hard to keep faith in the best-case scenario when the worst-case scenario would destroy everything you cared about. He'd already failed once to protect his family while they were hurt, and now it was happening again.

Finally, just when he was sure he was about to lose his mind, the cell door opened. It was Mynus, and a guard. The guard uncuffed Mynus and shoved him into the room, then locked the door. Cain rolled his eyes. He'd been considering going along with Mynus' charade for awhile to see where it led, but he was way beyond that point now. He had no more patience for it. "You can drop the act," he snarled.

Mynus frowned. "What?"

"How dumb do you think I am? You're not a prisoner here."

One eyebrow arched into Mynus' forehead. "What makes you say that?"

"If you were a real prisoner they'd never leave you alone in a cell with me, and you'd never be spilling all this information about them to me, you'd be too afraid for your own life."

"I've only tried to help you, General."

"Kinda my point. They can barely remember to feed me, but they're making sure I'm seen by a doctor every day? Bullshit. I was a Tin Man, remember? I know how it works. You want a man to talk, you give him a friend. So what's the plan? You coax information out of me? You feed me crumbs so I think I can escape, then I get shot in the attempt? Why did you sons of bitches do this to me?" he roared, seizing Mynus by the front of his shirt.

Mynus seemed unfazed. He reached up and plucked Cain's hands from his shirt and took a step back, then removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses. An attitude of cool detachment had slid over his face. "You already know why, Cain. Nejo told you why."

Cain' heard Nejo's voice. _There won't be much fight in her left after that._ "But why not just kill me, if that was the idea? Why keep me alive?"

"It hardly matters now, anyway. The strike failed."

Cain blinked. "What?"

"It failed. My hand-picked elite squad of Longcoats were taken down like green recruits by that little slip of a thing you're married to," Mynus said, sarcasm lacing his voice.

A bubble of exultation rose in Cain's chest, but he couldn't afford to believe it just yet. "You're lying."

"Why would I do that?"

He had him there. "On general principles?"

"I can understand your inclination to mistrust me, but I assure you it's true." He stepped to the door and poked his head out, and was handed something. "See for yourself." He passed Cain the evening paper from Central City.

Cain stared at it. A gigantic headline screamed at him, "LONGCOAT TAKEOVER FOILED." A picture of the Spire accompanied the article, as well as…his heart caught in his throat. A picture of DG giving an address, sitting at the prop desk they kept for such broadcasts. She looked like she'd had a bad morning, pale and rumpled, but she was gorgeously, fantastically alive. He skimmed the article…small force of Longcoats had come from above, sealed off help from below, but the Queen and the Princess had used magic to neutralize them. He schooled his expression, not wanting to give Mynus anything of the knee-wobbling relief he was feeling that DG was safe.

The secondary headline down the page caught his eyes. "A Nation Mourns," it said. His eyes jumped ahead, anxious to find out who had been killed…until he realized that it was himself. The text of an address DG had given earlier that afternoon was reproduced next to the photo of her. Cain read it, blinking back tears at her words. _He was the most important person in my life. He was the best man I ever knew, or ever expect to. I will miss him for as long as I live._

He touched her image with one finger. _You won't have to miss me for much longer, sweetheart. I'm going to get back to you if I have to dig my way out of here with a spoon,_ he thought.

He folded the paper. Now didn't seem the right time to bask in his wife's victory or her words about him. "So what went wrong?" he said.

Mynus sighed. "I'm man enough to admit when I'm in error, and I'm afraid I underestimated the Queen."

"People do that." Cain frowned. "If you were going to install a friendly ruler, you must have an army ready to invade. We never detected any such force on the Flornish border."

Mynus arched an eyebrow. "Who says they were on the Flornish border? Anyway, I've already withdrawn all my forces, General, such as they were."

"What, you're not going to try again?"

"If I were, I certainly wouldn't tell you. But no, I'm not going to try again. Not now, anyway. The climate is no longer suitable."

Cain nodded, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. "You were counting on support from sympathizers among the population."

"You are surely aware that after the Emerald War, there was still a fair amount of antipathy towards the House of Gale among your citizens. Many didn't believe the story offered to explain the Princess' possession, and many more didn't believe that a girl who'd lived her life on the other side was fit to rule. Her marriage to you, a former Tin Man and a hero of the Resistance, soothed a lot of fears, but not all of them. I don't have the manpower to mount a full-scale invasion. You're correct. I needed support from citizens who'd be in favor of her removal."

"But now…"

"Quite. That Otherworlder that so many mistrusted has single-handedly repelled an invasion attempt and come out victorious. Not to mention the overwhelming public sympathy for her grief. She's lost her husband just when the whole Zone was thrilling to your newfound romance. There was a time when the people of the O.Z. might have supported her removal, but now? They'd follow her into hell. The House of Gale is a tower once more, and I will need more than some exiled Longcoats and the Flornish, who are known more for their delicious pastries than their military might, if I want to take it down." Mynus didn't seem at all disturbed by these developments. He was relating them almost cheerfully, as if his total routing was a matter of bemusement, a charming anecdote he was relating to a friend over coffee.

"Who are you?" Cain asked. "You talk of the Longcoats and the Flornish as if you don't count yourself as either. I've never heard of you or seen you before, but you've somehow assumed leadership of the entire Longcoat expatriate army."

Mynus chuckled. "'Army' isn't the word I'd choose, General. There are less than six hundred Longcoats in Flornistan, and they're more a gang of thugs than a unit of military force. I'm afraid the best of them were among the palace strike force, and are currently sitting in one of your prisons."

"Why are you telling me all this?" _He's going to kill me for real. It's the only explanation._

"Because I thought you'd like to know." He leaned forward. "I underestimated your Queen twice over, General. I've described the first instance. But I also underestimated her love for _you._ It is that, as much or more than her victory over my Longcoats, that has so endeared her to her people."

"Is that so?"

"Everyone loves a love story. A beautiful princess needs a Consort, so she marries a handsome soldier, her longtime platonic friend and close advisor…surely you knew that the entire kingdom was watching you? Waiting for it? Examining every gesture, every expression, every word you said to each other?"

Cain's brain was seizing up with retroactive mortification. "They were?"

"And then this," he said, handing him a magazine with That Damn Picture on the cover. "This hit like artillery shells. Women swooned over you and wanted to be her. Men desired her and admired you. And you're looking at me like I'm insane. How can you not be aware of this?"

"Well…I suppose I was aware of some…interest…"

"This goes beyond interest into national obsession, Cain. And only days after this picture, you are tragically killed in a heroic rescue attempt." He shook his head, smiling ruefully. "You know, that silly bint of a chambermaid who took this picture may have doomed my invasion before it even began. If I weren't in charge I'd surely fire myself for proceeding with it. I didn't kill you to get information about the palace. I have plenty of sources for that. I killed you to destabilize _her._ It seems to have had the opposite effect, with the unfortunate side effect of causing the entire Outer Zone to clasp their Queen to their collective bosoms and bare their teeth at anyone who so much as looks at her cross-eyed. She is _theirs_ now, General, in a way that would take me ten times the force to overcome, and there wouldn't be much left of the Zone when the job was done."

"You want me to believe that you're abandoning your takeover plans? Which I'm not exactly clear about in the first place? And I still have no idea who the hell you are!"

"Who I am is irrelevant. I am insignificant. I saw an opportunity here and I took it, but the opportunity has passed. I'm finished."

Cain sighed. "Just get it over with."

"Get what over with?"

"Killing me. Aren't you going to? Again?"

"On the contrary. I'm letting you go."

Cain blinked. "Sorry, I guess us dead guys don't hear so well, but…sounded like you said you were letting me go."

"You heard right. What would be the point of holding you? You have no information I require. Your continued state of deadness only makes you a martyr and your wife a grieving lightning-rod of nationalistic fervor. You're more dangerous to me dead than alive. So I'm giving you your life back."

_It's a cruel trick of some kind. He can't be serious._

"I'm quite serious, General."

_Shit, am I talking out loud?_

"No, you just have a very readable face, if one is good at that sort of thing." Mynus crossed his legs at the knee. "Actually, I was always going to let you go, General. Remember those sympathizers I was counting on? Well, their support might have swung away from me and toward a tragically-widowed queen even if they disliked her. I only needed you to stay dead long enough for the invasion of the palace to succeed, after which I was going to return you in such a way that the general opinion of your bravery and heroism would take a serious nose-dive, and rob the Queen of her sympathetic-widow persona. But, since the invasion didn't succeed, there's no point. So, off you go."

"You're seriously letting me go? After I've seen this place, and you…"

"You've seen nothing. You've learned nothing you didn't already know, except things which no longer matter. You don't know where you are, nor will you, and even if you were to find your way back, I wouldn't be here." Mynus settled back in his chair. "I'm not a heartless man. Nor am I a ruthless killer. I kill if it serves my purpose. To kill you would serve no purpose. It benefits me to send you home, and I'll be honest…it pleases even me to let you return to the woman you so obviously love." He leaned forward again and fixed Cain with a steady gaze. "But you won't ever forget, will you? That you owe your life, and whatever happiness you and the Queen find together, to my generosity. Every second you draw breath will be a second I've allowed you to have. Perhaps I'll exact a price for this someday." He hesitated. "Perhaps not."

* * *

**Thursday**

* * *

Cain was blindfolded and led to a room that felt like a garage. Echoey and raw-feeling, and reeking of motor oil, a smell he was familiar with by its frequent appearances on DG's hair. He was loaded into the back of a car, which started up and rolled on out. He tried to discern some contextual clues to tell him where he was, but…the road sounded like road to him, and inside the car he couldn't see or smell anything of the environment.

"How far?" he asked.

"Couple of hours," Mynus said, from the front seat.

Cain mulled that over. Assuming they'd been in Flornistan, that put them…within a truly huge search area.

He sagged against the cushions, feeling abruptly exhausted. His chest still ached a little, but he guessed he couldn't really complain of a little ache after having been stabbed and living to tell the tale. "Hey."

"What?"

"You, uh…said you've got somebody inside the palace, right?"

"Yes, but don't worry. They won't make any trouble, and they'll be pulled out before you get back."

"Oh."

There was a long pause. "If you want to ask how the Queen is doing, Mr. Cain, I'll be glad to tell you."

Cain hated the idea of asking Mynus for anything, but he wanted to know. He had no guarantee the man would tell the truth, but if he accepted that he was about to be released (which he still wasn't sure about) then he'd have nothing to lose in being honest. "I don't _want_ to ask," he grumbled.

Mynus laughed. "I won't make you. My insider is on the housekeeping staff. All any of the servants can talk about is the Queen and her family, so I have excellent information, although I can't guarantee some of it isn't overblown rumor or gossip."

"Understood."

"They're not sophisticated people, the servants in your palace. All of them are waiting on tenterhooks for some kind of grand, melodramatic explosion of Gothic mourning from the Queen. I don't know what they expect. A tragic fit of screaming and self-injury, perhaps? That might satisfy them. At the very least they're waiting for hysterical sobbing."

"She isn't the hysterical type."

"Clearly not. So far they are disappointed. I don't mean to say they have no sympathy, they do. They crave drama. They're just not willing to look to find it." He hesitated. "I am told she does not eat. She barely speaks apart from her official business. The only sleep she's able to find is in your bed, and even then it is brief and troubled."

Cain stared at the inside of his blindfold, his heart aching.

"The only solace she seems to find is in the hours she spends outside in Gale Square, with the people who've come to leave mementos for you and mourn with their fellow citizens."

"Stop," Cain said, unable to hear any more.

"Does it trouble you? It isn't your fault, you know."

"Yes, it is. She begged me not to come down here and I did it anyway."

"You could not have done anything else, given who you are. You felt a duty to your son."

Cain sighed. "My son is an adult, and there were many others who could have helped him as well as…no, better than me, because they wouldn't have been emotionally involved or a target themselves. No one else can be Consort. My first duty should have been to the Queen and the Zone." He shook his head. "I should have stayed in Central City and let my men do their jobs."

"It will all work out all right in the end. Soon you'll be back home and all will be forgotten."

Cain wasn't so sure about that.

"I'm told that there was some kind of incident with…dresses," Mynus said, after a pause.

"Dresses?"

"Yes. I can't tell you any more than that, if such an incident occurred only the Princess Royal and a few ladies-in-waiting witnessed it and they'd never tell tales. It's only vague mutterings at this point."

Cain couldn't imagine what kind of incident there could have been involving dresses. "Anything else?"

"Well, let me see. The fact that they didn't find your body is causing some difficulties."

"Don't tell me you didn't plan for that."

"I'd planned for the invasion to succeed, giving us time to remove _all_ the bodies from that basecamp, including yours."

"Ah."

"The Queen believes that your body was taken by Longcoats as some kind of trophy, and she's demanding that the Prime Minister find it and return it to her immediately. I believe she employed a threat involving honey, fire ants and an armored tank division."

Cain grinned.

"Another of your party survived the attack."

He sat up straighter. "Really? Who?"

"Captain Armagnac."

"Oh, thank God." Cain had all but given up on anyone he'd come with having survived, apart from Jeb who he knew was already back in the City.

"A party from Central City arrived at the basecamp yesterday to collect the dead. They found Captain Armagnac barely alive. I'm told he's recovering in the Spire."

Anger rose in him. "Those were good men, all of them. They died for no reason."

"Of course there was a reason."

"Some bullshit strategy you were running that didn't even work?"

"Precisely. But it was a reason."

"Maybe you ought to kill me after all, before I get the chance to kill you."

Mynus laughed quietly. "You're not a man who tosses off threats with casual bravado, General, so I know you mean it. I'm not laughing at you. I find your remarks humorous for reasons of my own."

"What, the idea that I could find you and kill you is so preposterous that it's funny?"

"Hardly. I underestimated your wife, General, I won't make the same mistake with you. Tin Men are hardly known for their towering intellects…but then, you weren't any ordinary Tin Man, were you?"

Cain went very still.

"A fact I don't believe you've revealed to either the kingdom or to your wife, have you?"

_Keep your mouth shut._

"Don't worry, I don't expect you to respond. Nor do I blame you for keeping it to yourself. No one needs to know why you were really in that suit for eight years."

"How do you know these things?" Cain hissed. _Dammit, you were going to keep your mouth shut._

"I know a lot of things. About you, about your Queen, about your son, about your friends."

Abruptly, the car jerked to a halt and Cain's blindfold was removed. Mynus was sitting in the front seat, his back turned. He got out of the car and opened the door for Cain. _Take him down. Just lunge at his throat. You could probably snap his neck before anybody could stop you._

_Yes, you could. And what would be your chances of getting back to DG then? Is there a quantity less than zero?_

He gritted his teeth and held his ground. Mynus handed him a bag. "There are fresh clothes in there, some food and money. You'll start out on foot, but I'm sure you're resourceful enough to acquire some faster transport along the way. Today is Thursday. In case you want to know, your public memorial is scheduled for Saturday, five o'clock, Gale Square. If you hurry you can make it back before they start commemorating you."

"I still can't believe you're really doing this."

"Don't question it, General Cain. Go back to your life. I believe it needs you." He nodded and walked past Cain back towards the car.

"Who are you?" Cain called after him. Mynus paused. "Who are you, really?"

The man turned back. "What makes you think I'm anybody?" He smiled, and gave Cain the high-sign…his first two fingers, swept down his temple like he was flicking away a stray hair, but deliberate, intentional.

All the air seemed to have left Cain's immediate vicinity.

Mynus nodded, then got in his car and pulled away, reversed, and headed back down the two-lane backroad, soon disappearing around a curve.

Cain just stood there for a moment, still not quite believing that they hadn't killed him, and seeing that high-sign again and again.

The last time he'd been surprised to see that signal, he'd lost eight years of his life.


	18. Chapter 18

**Wednesday**

* * *

When DG woke, it was out of the first halfways-decent night's sleep she'd had since Cain had left the palace four days before. This was not due to any greater peace of mind, but rather to the three belts of scotch from the bottle in Cain's desk before bed, followed by a large glass of water to prevent hangover.

The sun was shining in her window. It looked like a beautiful day. She sat up, bitter resentment rising in her chest. How dare the sun shine? How dare it be beautiful? How did the world keep turning? Did it not know what had been lost forever? But the world didn't care, did it? The birds sang and the flowers bloomed and her whole midsection was a hollow, echoing cavern but did it matter? Not at all, not in the grand scheme.

The Council had declared today a national day of mourning. It was a nice gesture, but she was almost tempted to laugh.

A day. And then, what? We're done? No more mourning? If only it worked like that. She was staring down the barrel of a whole lifetime of days mourning for Cain, mourning not only the loss of the man himself but mourning the love she felt for him that she'd never been able to express, or feel returned.

She got up and showered, resolving to put herself together with some semblance of normality today. She had a lot to do. The party that had been sent to retrieve their dead should be returning.

She stopped in the middle of brushing her hair. _I don't know if I can look at his body._

_You have to. It has to be real._

_Isn't it real enough already? Do I have to look at what was done to him? At his lifeless, cold…_

She ran to the toilet and vomited, her nose running, eyes screwed tightly shut.

_Don't think about it._

_No, think about it now. Get used to the idea and puke all you want in private. That way, when you have to look, maybe you'll hold it together._

There was ample distraction, of course. She'd go again into Gale Square and talk to the people. There was the memorial to plan, set for Saturday. There was the continuing business of investigating the invasion attempt. Miryam suspected an insider on their staff, which was an unsettling thought. There were military tactics to discuss, ambassadors to dispatch, intelligence to gather.

And she had a small project of her own that had sprung near fully-formed into her mind during the night, it seemed. But before she could turn her attention to that, she had a very important visit to make.

* * *

They weren't expecting her on the hospital floor. "Oh, Your Majesty!" the nurse at the main desk exclaimed. "I, uh…did you have an appointment today?"

"No. I'd just like to see Dr. Malangar, please."

"Of course, right away."

_Another benefit of being Queen. Immediate medical attention with no waiting or paperwork._

Her doctor emerged within ten seconds, looking a little flustered at her sudden appearance, and led her back to his office. "I was going to come up and see you later," he said, sitting her down in a chair.

"Why?"

"Well…I thought you might need something. A sedative, or something to help you sleep."

 _The Scotch worked great, actually._ "I'm fine, Doctor." She folded her hands on her lap. "I don't know if what I'm going to ask you is possible."

"All right."

"My period isn't due until next week, but…can you check?"

He frowned. "Check what?"

"To see if I'm pregnant. I don't know if you can tell this early, but…"

"Oh! Of course, yes, I can check. Come to the exam table." She hoisted herself up and laid down. Dr. Malangar returned with a small needle and a long wand-looking thing. He ran the wand over her abdomen, then pricked her finger and took a few drops of blood into a clear pipette. "I'll be right back, ma'am. Just a moment."

She nodded, sitting up as he left the room. She didn't want to get her hopes up too far; they'd been disappointed every other time they'd tried, but it had to work sooner or later, didn't it? Especially since she was young and healthy, and there was nothing wrong with either of them? There just wasn't any reason for it. Dr. Malangar had been just as perplexed over her seeming inability to conceive as she was.

She shut her eyes, her hands gripping the edge of the table, her stomach roiling in uneasy heaves. _I have to be. I have to be. Please._ If she wasn't pregnant now then she'd never be. That was ridiculous, of course. Someday, sometime…she'd have to be. But today, she couldn't fathom having a child with anyone else.

_I'm going to have to get another Consort. Sometime._

She would have thought this idea would be repellent, but it was oddly…neutral. No different than thinking of getting a new cook in the kitchen or a new chambermaid, because any Consort she got in the future would be no more meaningful to her than that.

Dr. Malangar came back in and DG straightened up, hope filling her chest; hope that was quickly crushed when she saw his face. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty."

She nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. I just…wanted to know."

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, and she saw in his eyes that he meant it for more than just today's disappointment.

"I hoped I'd have something of him left," she said. The doctor nodded. DG took a deep breath and drew herself up. "Thank you, Doctor."

* * *

Azkadellia hurried after Elspeth, DG's personal secretary, both of them half-running towards the royal suite. "I don't know what happened, Your Highness. The dresser just asked her what she'd be wearing to the memorial so they can have it steamed and prepared."

"And then what?"

"Well…you'll see." They entered the suite. Elspeth opened the door to DG's bedroom, beyond which lay her closet. The royal dresser and Jillian, DG's lady-of-the-bedchamber, were lurking near the bed like frightened rabbits.

What looked like every dress in the Queen's closet had been flung out into the bedroom. They were heaped in a pile three feet deep, spilling in every direction. DG was in the closet, hurling more gowns out. "Nope! Nope!" she kept yelling, with each dress discarded.

"I see," Azkadellia said. "It was right of you to come get me. You all run along, now. I'll handle this."

The three women gratefully fled. Az shut and locked the bedroom door behind her and approached the closet, gingerly picking her way through the drift of gowns, most of which DG rarely wore, being more of the formal variety. "DG?"

She stuck her head out of the closet door, her hair wild and full of static electricity. "Hi, Az." Another dress came flying out. "Nope!"

"What's going on?"

She stepped out and surveyed the gowns, hands on her hips. "I don't seem to have any black dresses."

"Of course not. It's bad luck for the Queen to wear a black dress, you know that."

"I can't wear any of these."

"You can't wear black."

"I have to wear black! It's…the custom!"

"Since when?"

"Since always!"

"That's the custom…over there?"

"It's the custom!" She picked up a random gown, a bright canary-yellow number. "No way in hell I'm wearing any of these!" she exclaimed.

"Then what are you going to wear?"

"I don't know! But none of these! There's no color that's…safe!"

"Safe in what way?"

"You know, safe! Safe so I don't…remember stuff."

"Remember what stuff?"

"Az! Are you trying to make this difficult?"

"No, I'm trying to help you, honey. I just don't know what the problem is." Az was treading lightly. She'd been waiting. Just waiting for DG to lose it. Two days now and she had been quiet, restrained, calm, and totally shut down. Every time she touched her sister she could _feel_ her despair and her terrible grief, but no one had seen it, not even DG herself. Everyone was walking around with one eye on her, just waiting for it to finally break her in half and come spilling out the pieces. Dresses. Could this be the thing that was one thing too much?

She picked up a gown in a lovely, deep russet color. "What's wrong with this color? I like it."

"Are you kidding? That's the exact color of his Tin Man vest."

Light was dawning. "Oh, of course. Well…how about this one?"

DG held out her hands, speaking to her as if she were a particularly slow and stubborn child. "That green, it's like the grass at Finaqua, in the field where he taught me how to play wicket-ball. This pink, it's like the sunset we watched off my balcony last week. This silver just looks like tin suits to me and this…this one," she hissed, holding up an ice-blue gown and shaking it at her, "Do I even need to _say_ what I see when I look at this color? This one's going to have to be _burned,_ " she said. She grabbed the dress in both hands and flung it away. She looked around at the piles of dresses and abruptly sat down on the floor among them with a thump, defeated, her head in her hands.

Az knelt at her side, one hand on her arm. "Oh, DG."

"Everything reminds me of him, Az," she said, her voice muffled by her hands. "Not just the dresses. Every damned thing out there in the world, too. It's like he's following me around, poking me, going 'Remember this thing we did that you didn't appreciate at the time? Remember this awesome thing I said that should have been a clue that totally went by you? Remember that moment we had in the car that one time when you thought about kissing me and you didn't do it because you were freaked out? Remember every single little thing and every second that we could have had together and we didn't? It's too late now, so remembering is all you get to do!'"

"Don't do this to yourself."

"Don't do what? Be truthful?"

"No. Don't torture yourself. We're all so worried about you, it's like you're locking everything up. This is the first time you've talked about how you feel."

DG sighed. "I can't. Maybe soon. I know what I'm doing. I know you're all worried. I just…" She leaned her head against Azkadellia's shoulder. "If I let it get out that'll be it. I have to keep it together for awhile. The Zone needs me to keep it together. That's my job."

"I know." She put one arm around DG's thin shoulders and sat down next to her, rubbing her arm.

_Wait for it._

It didn't come. DG sat there shuddering for a few moments, her hands over her face, then straightened up a little, looking around. "God, what a mess," she muttered.

"You still need a dress, you know," Az said, going for a lighter tone.

DG snorted. "I was thinking I could just wear my bathrobe. Would that be unseemly?"

"Here's what let's do. All these dresses…well, you've worn all these. He saw you in all of these, right?" DG nodded. "Let's have a new dress made just for the occasion. Not black."

"What color, then?" DG asked, turning hopeful eyes up to her sister. _I really need to BE her big sister now. I need to have the answers, I need to say the right things._

"Well…what was Cain's favorite color?"

DG stared around at the rainbow haystacks of fine fabrics all around them. Her hand stole out and tugged at a piece of deep royal blue satin. "Blue. He liked me in blue. Like this." She smiled a little, her eyes far away. "I wore this to a state dinner last fall. When I came out in it…well. Was the only time I can remember that he got all tongue-tied and blushy when he saw me. He had on this sash underneath his tuxedo jacket and it was the same color. It was intended to be, of course, but he acted like it was a total coincidence just so he could stop tripping over trying to tell me he liked how I looked without saying it. He came over and said 'Look…we're a matched set.'" She pulled the dress out of the pile and hugged it to her chest. "And we were," she whispered.

They sat there amidst the gowns, like little girls playing in piles of raked leaves. Az held DG against her shoulder, half hoping she'd cry or scream or _something_ , but she didn't. After a few moments, she just pulled away, putting the blue dress from her. "I should clean this up. Not fair to make the maids do it."

"DG, right now they're so eager to help you they'd trim your hair with nail clippers. Leave it."

"Can you take this to the seamstresses? Something not floofy. Simple. But this color."

"Sure."

DG glanced at her wristwatch. "Oh, I've got someone coming in a few minutes and I bet I look like the Bride of Frankenstein."

"Who's coming?"

"You remember Mrs. Winterset, who painted that picture of us?"

"Yes, of course."

"I asked her here."

"Why?"

DG hesitated. "I'm thinking of commissioning her to paint a portrait of Cain. Is that weird?"

"No, not at all. There would have been one done eventually anyway."

"It isn't weird to still do it?"

"No," she said, grasping DG's hand and smiling. "I think it's lovely. Where will you hang it?"

"I was thinking in the office. But I'm hoping she can do it before the memorial so I can show everybody."

"Hmm. That's short notice."

"Doesn't hurt to ask."

* * *

Thelma Winterset blinked at her, a bit frozen-faced with surprise. "You want _me_ to paint the General's portrait?"

"I'll pay your regular rates, of course."

"Oh, well…I don't really have rates, Your Majesty. I'm not a professional artist."

DG frowned. "I thought you said you had a shop."

Mrs. Winterset fidgeted a little. "It's a bake shop, ma'am. Best pie in Central City. I'd love to be a professional artist, but…" She trailed off.

DG waited. "But what? You're definitely talented enough."

"Thank you, ma'am. It's just difficult to break into the art world when you're self-taught, and you have a family and a business to tend to, and all the other artists and art critics laugh at the little granny doing portraits of the neighborhood kids, which she paints in one corner of her laundry room because she doesn't have a proper studio," Thelma said, wryly.

"Hmm. Well, we'll see if they're all still laughing at you when I unveil your portrait at the General's memorial on Saturday."

Now Mrs. Winterset's eyes bugged out of her skull. "Saturday?"

"Oh…um, if that's possible. I understand it's short notice. I still want the portrait even if you can't…"

"Your Majesty, if I have to paint around the clock from now until then, I will finish it."

DG smiled. "Thanks for at least being willing to give it a shot."

"Ma'am…I don't know what to say, or how to thank you. A Royal commission…most artists only dream of such a thing. The portraits of the royal family have been painted by some of the greatest artists of our time, and to think you want me to be one of them…" She hesitated. "My style is a bit different than the traditional portraits hanging in that gallery."

"I'm a bit different too, Mrs. Winterset. And so is…" She caught herself. "So was the General."

"Of course. I'm honored to accept, ma'am." She reached into her rather large purse and pulled out a sketchpad and a pencil. "But if I'm to finish this portrait in time I'd better get started. How large do you want the portrait?"

"Oh. I'm…not sure."

"Life size? Most of the royal portraits are life-size."

"All right."

"Do you want full-figure, waist-up or head-and-shoulders?"

DG hadn't been ready for all these questions. "I hadn't thought about it."

Thelma nodded. "Well, you've had a lot on your mind, ma'am. Where do you plan to hang it?"

"In our private office. Oh, why don't I just show you?" She got up and beckoned Mrs. Winterset to follow her. She led her down the hall and around to the office. "This is the General's desk, and…" Mrs. Winterset was no longer behind her. DG turned to see the woman hovering in the doorway, looking around as if expecting an attack to come at any moment. "Thelma?"

"Oh…sorry, ma'am," she said, inching forward. "It's just…these aren't the for-show rooms they take you to on the tour. These are the real rooms, aren't they?"

DG smiled. "Yes, they sure are." She looked at Cain's desk. A portrait of one of her ancestor's Consorts hung above it. "There, that's where I'd like to hang it."

Thelma was nodding. "All right. Close your eyes, ma'am, and imagine the General how you'd like to remember him."

DG did as she was bid.

"What do you see?"

"I see…I'm not sure what I see. There's too much."

"Do you see all of him, or just his face?"

"All."

"What's he wearing, ma'am?"

"His Tin Man clothes. How I first met him."

"Is he smiling?"

"Well…kinda. He had this way of smiling but not smiling."

DG could hear Thelma's pencil scratching. "What's the first thing you noticed about him?"

"His eyes. Always. Even when he came out of the tin suit and had hair down to everywhere, I saw his eyes."

More scratching. "Do you see him posed? Like in a portrait?"

"No, he'd never do that."

"Is he outside or inside?"

"Outside." She hesitated. "Inside. I don't know…"

"Hmm." More scratchings. DG waited, eyes closed, for the next question. "Like this, Your Majesty?"

DG opened her eyes and looked at the sketch Thelma was holding out. It was rough, just outlined forms and a mere suggestion of features, but… "Oh my God," she breathed.

"Something wrong?"

"No, it's just…" DG shook her head. "It's like you reached into my head and plucked it out." The figure in the sketch was head-to-toe, leaning against a wall with one shoulder, feet crossed one over the other at the ankle. He had one hand hooked in his belt and the other on his gun, as he'd so often stood when he still carried one, his face in three-quarter profile but his eyes facing front, like he was keeping an eye on things.

Thelma smiled. "Good."

"How did you…I didn't even describe this."

"I've spent a lot of years listening to people talk about how they want their portraits to look, ma'am. What they don't say is just as telling. And where they want it hung is telling, too." She smiled. "The fact that you wanted him clothed how he was when you met him told me you wanted to see the everyday man, not the larger-than-life figure. That you want him hung here means you want to see him every day, which means you'd like to see him as you knew his private self. That you want him above his own desk, looking at you…and anyone else who might sit there…says you want him to keep watching out for you."

DG nodded. "This is just what I want. Exactly."

"Then I'll get started right away."

DG went to the door and beckoned Alex inside. "Mrs. Winterset, this is Alexander. He's…" She stopped again. _Dammit._ "He was General Cain's private secretary. I've asked him to help you with anything you need. If you'd prefer to work at home that's fine, but if you'd like to work here we will provide you with space and whatever materials you need."

Thelma was nodding. "I don't really have the space at home, so…"

"Then you'll work here." She reached out and clasped Mrs. Winterset's hand, relieved that this task was done. "Thank you for doing this for me."

The woman's kindly face creased in a smile, and DG wished she could hug her again. "It's my honor, Your Majesty. I hope…it brings you some peace."

DG sighed. "I don't expect miracles. Please, excuse me." She nodded to Alexander and left the room.

She'd walked a good way down the hall before realizing she had no destination in mind, so she just kept walking until she found herself looking at Ambrose's door.

The page opened the door for her. Glitch was sitting on the couch, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, surrounded by paperwork. He was in his shirtsleeves, his tie loosened. She flapped a hand to keep him from getting up when he saw her. She stood there, shifting her weight, until he just cleared away a stack of folders and patted the couch at his side.

DG flopped down next to him, tucked her legs beneath her and let her head fall to his shoulder. "You okay, doll?" he asked.

"Next question, please."

"Did that painter lady say yes?"

"Yeah. She says she can finish by Saturday." She rubbed her eyes. "Can I just hide in here for awhile?"

"Sure. But you know, people do come and see me, too. You'll be discovered sooner or later."

"I know. I'll tell them I was looking for my pen and just fell asleep here."

"Hmm. Good cover story. Maybe we should have you working counterintelligence."

She sat there for some time, not speaking, while Ambrose kept reading whatever reports he was reading. She could see that they had something to do with Longcoats and the invasion attempt, but knew if anything required her attention he'd bring it up.

 _He'll tell me the truth._ "Glitch?"

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Can I ask you something _else?_ "

"You can ask me anything you want."

She took a deep breath. "Do you think Cain loved me? I mean, like _that?_ "

She felt him go still. He put aside the report he was reading and folded his hands in his lap. "Do you really _need_ to ask me that?"

"I'm afraid I'm over-romanticizing. Making too much of stuff. I mean, what do I have? He kissed me once. One vague sentence on the back of a dispatch. Raw said he was missing me. But…that doesn't mean…"

"DG," Ambrose said, cutting her off. "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you that no, I don't think he loved you, not like _that,_ he was just a good friend who was fond of you, thought of you like family. Nothing more. Do you think that if I say that, then maybe the same is true about you, and it won't hurt as much?"

"No," she said. _And by 'no' I mean 'yes.'_ "Just…you're usually right about everything."

"Usually?"

She smacked his arm. "Shut up."

He sighed. "DG, I have no family of my own. Your family is all I have. My whole life is about helping you, and looking out for you, and caring for you."

"Is that an answer?"

"I don't think Cain loved you. I know he did. Deeply, and profoundly. I knew it before he knew it. Just like I knew you loved him before you did."

She lifted her head and met his eyes. "Seriously?"

He smiled, a slight, sad smile. "I wish you both could have seen yourselves when you were together. I don't mean to imply that you gave off some kind of cheesy glow or wore longing looks when you thought yourself unobserved. Nothing so…literal. It was more than that, it was deeper. A wise person once said that being in love isn't about two people looking at each other, but about them looking together in the same direction."

She nodded. "That is wise. You didn't say it, by any chance, did you?"

He chuckled. "No. I don't remember who did. But that was you. It was like it was automatic, you just linked hands and fell into step, like you'd been made to fit each other." He shook his head. "I can't believe you can talk so calmly about all this."

She shrugged. "What choice do I have?"

He watched her for a moment. "You're just numb, aren't you?"

She played with a tassel on one of the couch cushions. "It's like I'm watching everything from far away," she murmured. "Down a long tunnel, like looking into the wrong end of a telescope. It gets close enough for me to see it, but not close enough to touch. I hear my own voice and it's all echoey and hollow, like talking in a big empty room."

"You can't go on like that forever."

"I know. But I don't know how to stop. And I'm sick of talking about it now."

"Okay."

She looked at Ambrose's face. "How are _you?_ "

He sighed. "I miss him. I miss my friend. I miss you, too. Because this?" he said, drawing circles in the air before her face with his index finger, "this isn't you."

There was a knock at the door, and Ambrose's secretary entered. "Sir? They're back."

DG met Glitch's eyes. _The bodies. Here we go._

* * *

DG didn't expect such a flurry of activity when they arrived on the hospital floor. "What's going on?" she said, grabbing one of the officers who'd gone on the retrieval party.

"We found a survivor. Captain Armagnac."

"Is he all right?"

"He's in pretty bad shape."

She and Ambrose hovered in the background while the doctors gathered around Danny, barking orders and doing things. Cutting his clothes off, hooking up IV drips, wheeling up trays of instruments. She felt another hand on her arm and turned to see Azkadellia at her side. "Who's that? Is that Danny?"

"Yeah."

"He looks…bad."

DG could only nod. "Yeah."

General Showalter approached. "Your Majesty?"

She was startled away from watching Danny. "Yes, General?"

"I'm afraid the team had to rush things a bit; they were under sniper attack by Longcoats. I've sent several squads of recon patrols to clean out the area."

"Good." She swallowed hard. "But they…accomplished their mission."

He hesitated. "In a manner of speaking, ma'am."

"What manner of speaking?"

"Your Majesty, General Cain's body was not in the basecamp."

For a moment, DG's brain felt like it had vapor-locked. _What? What'd he say? No body?_ Luckily, she had Ambrose with her to ask for the clarification. "Are you certain, General?"

"Yes, sir. We made a thorough search. All the dead are accounted for except General Cain. Captain Armagnac, before he lost consciousness, reported that he saw the General's body removed from the basecamp by some of the Longcoats, but he was in no position to do anything about it."

DG couldn't feel her legs. "They…they _took_ him?" She sounded all wheezy to herself.

General Showalter looked pale and shaken. "I'm afraid that's not without precedent, ma'am. Longcoats were known to…take the bodies of their fallen enemies, especially ones of high standing. For morale, one would guess, or…as trophies…"

"General!" Azkadellia snapped. "I think that's quite enough!"

"I'm sorry…so sorry, Your Majesty…" He backed away.

Azkadellia's voice was coming to her from a great distance. "DG…DG? Oh God…Ambrose, her face!"

She saw Glitch's face directly in front of her, his brow furrowed, his eyes sharp. "DG, you've gone white as a sheet. Listen to my voice, okay?"

She blinked and the world swam back into focus. Az and Glitch each had one of her arms tightly in their hands, half supporting her. "Az, get me out of here," she rasped. "Better hurry."

"Okay. We're going."

They started walking towards the door but her knees weren't really functioning. Ambrose let go of her arm and picked her up, and things started moving a lot more quickly. A brief flash of the elevator and some hallways and they were in her sitting room and there was a couch underneath her. Az was crouching before her, holding both of her hands, her magic strong and pearlescent while DG's was sputtery and wan. "DG, I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? Look at me, look at my face. Breathe deep and watch my eyes."

She focused on Az's voice. The rest of the room grayed away. Az's eyes were huge, they filled her whole field of vision. She hung onto her hands and did as she was told. Deep and slow. Deep and slow. Az was nodding.

"Ambrose, fetch the doctor," Az was saying.

"No," DG said. Her voice sounded normal again. "I'm okay."

Ambrose returned and leaned over her. "Are you sure?"

"I'll do for now." She let go of Az's hands and stood up. Her legs held her. "I just…had a bad moment."

"Great Gale, DG. After days of bad moments I'm not surprised. Have you eaten today?"

"God, I can't remember." She walked in aimless little tracks around the room, letting her senses return. "Maybe…a sandwich or something?"

Azkadellia looked relieved that she was suggesting it. "I'll have something brought up." She got up and went to the door.

DG kept walking, her hands on her hips, breathing. _Don't think about it. Take action. It'll be okay._

_Okay?_

_Yeah. I think I'm okay._

* * *

Azkadellia had the guard go to the kitchen and fetch a sandwich and some tea for the Queen, then went back into the sitting room. DG was still very pale, but she was walking and talking and breathing. She'd almost passed out. On hearing that Cain's body was missing she'd gone alarmingly pale. Her eyes had lost focus and began to roll back in her head before Ambrose jerked her back.

_She can't go on like this. She's got this house of straw around herself and the wind keeps blowing and one more stiff breeze will blow the whole thing away and leave her sitting there naked and unprotected in the hurricane._

"Honey, why don't you take an afternoon nap after you've eaten?" she suggested, sitting down on the couch. "You've barely slept."

DG flapped an impatient hand. "I can't sleep. I was thinking I'd go outside for awhile."

Az and Ambrose exchanged a glance. "I know you like doing that, DG, but I'm worried that it's wearing you down. You've got enough on you with your own grief, let alone shouldering anyone else's."

"Are you _handling_ me, Az?" DG said, smirking.

"No. But I can start."

"I don't need to be handled. And seeing the people…well, it helps." The door opened and the guard entered with a tray. "Thanks," she said. The guard blinked at her, looking amazed to have been addressed, then bowed and left.

DG picked up the sandwich and took a bite. She chewed…and chewed…and chewed…and finally swallowed. She stared down at the sandwich in her hand like she'd forgotten what it was. "What do you think they're doing to him?" she said, her voice thin and dreamlike.

Azkadellia rose to her feet and went to stand next to her. _Oh, great and powerful, give me strength to get my sister through this._ "It won't do any good to think about that."

"Someone has to." DG looked up at her. "And we all know what they're doing to him. No one wants to say it out loud. Nobody wants to say that they've probably got his head on a pike so the birds can peck out his beautiful eyes while we're here painting portraits and having sandwiches." She stared at the tray, expressionless. Without warning, DG swept the tray and everything on it off the table with enough force that it crashed into the neighboring wall and clattered to the floor. Az and Ambrose both jumped.

DG whirled around and stalked to the fireplace. She put both hands on the mantel and leaned against it, her head sagging down, her shoulders rolling restlessly.

Nothing happened for a few interminable seconds.

Azkadellia _felt_ the shattering through her bond with DG. Like needles on her skin, a smooth surface peppered with buckshot. She hurried to DG's side and bent down so she could see her sister's face. Her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth open like she was screaming at the top of her lungs, but eerily silent.

Az grabbed her and just managed to get her arms tight around her before DG was able to suck in a breath and give her grief its anguished voice at last.

* * *

_…three hours later…_

* * *

Ambrose poked his head into DG's bedroom. "You guys okay?"

Azkadellia nodded. "We're okay."

"I'm going down to talk to General Showalter. You ring if you need me."

She smiled at him. "Thanks, Ambrose."

Az was sitting up against the headboard of DG's bed with her sister's limp, exhausted body curled in her lap. She stroked her hair and rubbed her back and felt DG's tremors and hiccups in her own body through their contact. Her arms ached from holding her. Her dress was wet with DG's tears. Her throat was sore from murmuring and humming. Even given all that, what she felt the most at this moment was relief.

DG sighed, then slowly sat up. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose for the hundredth time, the skin around it red from repetitions of this. She looked like ten kinds of hell. Her eyes were puffed nearly shut, her lips swollen, her face splotchy and her nose raw. But she looked clear-eyed, and she looked _there_ in a way she hadn't in days. She met Az's eyes and nodded. "Thanks."

"What are sisters for?"

"That was above and beyond."

Azkadellia tucked a sheaf of DG's hair back over her shoulder. "How do you feel?"

She blew air through her teeth. "Hoo boy. Drained. No, more like…purged. Of something poisonous inside. The only thing is…"

Az waited. "What?"

DG looked at her, eyes welling up again. "Now I have to feel it all the time. I can't put it away anymore."

* * *

It was nearly eleven. The halls were quiet, but DG was restless. She was tired, through to her bones, and she could sense that sleep would come to her that night at last, but first she had to take herself out on a test drive.

She'd gone to the hospital floor to see Danny, but the doctors told her he was sleeping and ought not to be disturbed. So she found herself back on the residential floor, walking the halls in her dressing-gown, hanging onto her latest handkerchief.

Jillian rounded the corner ahead and threw her hands up when she saw DG. "Oh there you are, ma'am. You are going to drive me to distraction. What are you doing?"

"Just having a little stroll. But I'll go to bed soon."

"I've had the maids put fresh linens on, ma'am. Yours were a bit…tousled."

"Thanks." DG glanced around. "Do you know where Alexander put Mrs. Winterset?"

"He set her up in the little blue room, ma'am. I believe she's there now."

DG nodded. "I'm going to go look in on her, then I'll go to sleep, all right?"

"I'll hold you to that, Your Majesty."

She smiled and let Jillian go on by, then walked off with renewed purpose.

The little blue room was a rarely-used sitting room that was tucked out of the way in a corner, which was why no one ever used it. DG knocked quietly. "Come in!" said a distracted-sounding voice.

She eased into the room and shut the door behind her. Half of it had been draped in sheets and a mock-up wall set up, with bright lights illuminating the model space. DG blinked at the sight of a man in Tin Man clothes like Cain's standing in the same posture Thelma had shown her in the sketch.

"Oh, Your Majesty!" Thelma exclaimed. She emerged from behind an impossibly large canvas, wearing a sail-like smock covered in blotches of paint. Her curly hair was twisted into a bun and she was holding a brush. "I didn't expect you'd be dropping by!"

"Just on my way to bed, Thelma."

The model snapped to attention. "Ma'am!" he exclaimed, surprised.

"Didn't I tell you not to move?" Thelma scolded him. "Oh, now I'll have to re-set you. Take a break and sit down for a bit if you wish." The man moved gratefully away from the mock-up wall and flopped into a chair. "He's not an artist's model," Thelma murmured, confidentially. "We just found somebody of the General's height and size. I'll use photographs and video for the face and hands." DG was nodding. It was a little disconcerting to see another man wearing that coat and that hat.

"May I see?" she said, motioning to the canvas.

"Oh, certainly. Not much to see yet." Thelma led her around to the other side of the canvas. She was right. The figure was roughed in, the background was sketched. It looked like she was starting on the shading for the clothing. "It's coming along. They're bringing me lots of coffee."

"Please get some sleep yourself, Mrs. Winterset. This portrait's not worth your health."

"I'm fine, dear." Thelma peered at her. "Are you all right, ma'am? Pardon me for saying so, but you look…well, awful."

DG nodded. "I think I'm okay. I've just…well…" She made a vague motion with her handkerchief.

Thelma smiled. "Finally had yourself a good cry, have you? Good."

DG stepped closer to the painting, her eyes tracing the outlines of Cain's form…because it was definitely recognizable as such. She didn't know how that was possible at this early stage but she could already see that the man being painted was not the model but Cain. She reached up and touched the empty space where his face would go, and she could almost see it there. Thelma stood at her side, watching her.

DG sighed. "I loved him, Mrs. Winterset," she whispered. "But too late for him to know. That's what haunts me now."

"We who've known love are still the lucky ones, ma'am, no matter how brief our acquaintance with it."

"I don't feel so lucky right now."

"Give it time, dear."

"I'm just afraid."

"That you'll never get over it?"

"No." DG looked at her. "I'm afraid someday I will."

* * *

_Thursday_

* * *

DG woke up the next morning and didn't waste a minute before her feet hit the floor and she was headed for the bathroom. She felt like a new person. She'd slept ten hours straight, dreamless coma-like sleep, and now the sun was arrowing into her eyes like an express telegram from the heavens telling her to get her ass in gear.

She dressed, put on slacks and a blazer over a camisole, and put her hair up in a businesslike bun.

Her first stop was the hospital wing, where Danny Armagnac was awake and sitting up. She went to his side and clasped his hand, smiling. "Danny, we're so glad you're all right."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry…I'm so sorry."

"You have got nothing to be sorry for, Captain. You stow that, you hear?"

He nodded. "Just feels wrong I'm here and they're all…" Tears welled in his eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better, they're going to answer for this."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, sounding more determined.

"Good. You rest up and get better, because I'll be needing you back at work." She winked at him, and left.

Second stop was a briefing with her top advisors. They all entered the room, hats in hands, walking quietly. _They're expecting the ghost-me from the last few days._ "Good morning, everyone," she said, trying to sound as crisp and in-control as possible.

Ambrose sat on her right, as usual. General Showalter, the Home Secretary and the Foreign Secretary sat before her. "Your Majesty, we've rounded up several dozen Longcoats from the woods and roads between here and the Flornish border," Showalter said. "They're being brought here for trial."

"Good. What about the Longcoats inside Flornistan?"

The Foreign Secretary shook her head. "The Prime Minister still denies any knowledge of them, and giving them any aid."

"But we know he's lying."

"Oh, yes. The Longcoats we've captured have told us all about it."

DG pursed her lips. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. I want to speak to the Prime Minister this afternoon, by viewscreen. I want to look into the bastard's eyes and have him look in mine. I intend to inform him that if he does not deliver _all_ the Longcoats residing within his borders and I mean right goddamn now, I will sever all diplomatic ties to his country and cut off his coal and oil supply lines from the Zone. Then I will have Nobbeland do the same. Their President owes me a favor, and once he learns what the Flornish are trying to pull on us I'm sure he'll be anxious to make sure his country isn't next. I'll make it clear that I am fully prepared to back this up with military force. Are we prepared to back this up with military force, General?"

"Prepared? Absolutely, Your Majesty. The soldiers of your army are champing at the bit to fight under your banner. They require only an objective."

"Grand. Furthermore, if he does not locate and return my husband's body _immediately_ I will come and get it personally. And I will bring not only my sister, who can be an impressive weapon herself, but an armored tank division just in case she and I aren't scary enough."

The Foreign Secretary was nodding. "This is decisive action, Your Majesty. Frankly, I…" She seemed to remember herself and abruptly stopped talking.

DG arched an eyebrow. "You didn't expect me to be capable of taking it? It's all right." She pushed back from her desk and got up. "A man where I come from once said that the world ends when you're dead, and before then there's just more punishment to be had, so stand it like a man, and give some back."


End file.
